Sensitivity
by SeveRemus
Summary: Spock learns to appreciate Bones more when he becomes the good doctor's patient in "Star Trek: Beyond." What he learns about McCoy as well as himself through the ordeal makes Spock question whether all of his choices, while logical, were the best. Eventual Spones/McSpock slash.
1. Chapter 1: Empathy

A blinding wave of pain engulfed Spock, sending him crashing to the floor of the long-abandoned building. Even before he could fully regain his breath, McCoy was beside him, assessing his injury.

"Stay down!" the doctor ordered. "I really don't want to burn you again just to keep you in one piece."

"I would prefer that... as well," Spock replied between gasps. "Perhaps I should not have... looked up at the ceiling — it seems to have pulled... on the scar tissue."

"Oh, you think?" McCoy growled. His right hand landed on Spock's bare stomach as he examined the wound, causing a flood of emotions to envelop the injured Vulcan, who could not even begin to block them in his current state. _WORRY-WORRY-FEAR-WORRY-WORRY-RELIEF_. Spock flinched at their intensity but did not bother to remind McCoy that he was a touch-empath; he knew that contact was an instinctive thing for the Human, a reflexive act to try to convey comfort.

"Well, you didn't tear it completely loose, but if you do that again I'm gonna have to cut out the old scar and re-brand you with a new one. So I suggest you _don't fucking move_ for a while."

Spock nodded. "I will defer to your... medical expertise."

"You're losing more blood, though," McCoy muttered, still peering under Spock's shirt. "You're going to need some water soon, even if it makes you bleed quicker. I'll go down to the river and get some. Stay here."

"How will you carry it back?"

"With my bare hands, if need be," McCoy snapped. "But I should be able to scavenge a tube of some sort from the wreckage of our crash."

"Doctor, if you return to the site, there will be a greater chance of the enemy finding you."

"I know that, Spock, but it's getting dark so we'll have to shelter here for the night, and I need water too. Just stay still and try not to hurt yourself any more."

Finding himself in no position to argue, Spock watched McCoy jump down out of the circular structure, then turned his scrutiny back to the writing on the ceiling and walls. He tried to focus on the patterns and commit them to memory. His vision became distorted, as though he were looking through unbalanced lenses, which told him that his injury was affecting his cognitive faculties. He took a deep breath and attempted yet again to will the pain away. It was a discipline of Vulcan meditation: by acknowledging the pain and giving it a place to exist, then closing off that place and relegating it to the back of one's consciousness, he should have been able to ignore its effects. At least in theory. It was the second theory of the day that had been proven to be, as McCoy would say, "horse shit."

Spock realized he had drifted off when he was startled by the grunts McCoy made as he hoisted himself back up into the chamber.

"Here, drink as much as you can. I tried to filter it through my sleeve, but if it's full of parasites, well, then so am I."

Spock complied as the doctor lifted him with one arm and held the container to his lips. The water tasted metallic but was refreshing after his ordeal.

"So you were saying," McCoy began as he gently laid Spock down again, "that the writing in this building is the same as on that artifact the Fabona tried to give the Teenaxians?"

Spock nodded, realizing the doctor was trying to distract him from the pain in the only way he could. "Yes. Although the artifact had been scanned and proven to be inert, perhaps our proximity to this planet activated its homing beacon, thereby precipitating the attack."

"Just our luck to have it on board when we came here," McCoy grumbled, sitting down next to his patient.

Spock suddenly opened his eyes, startled. "I do not believe it was a coincidence," he stated, resisting the urge to sit up. "If this is where the artifact originated — the one place where it could be reactivated — it is highly improbable that the Enterprise was asked to come here on a rescue mission by chance."

"Are you saying it was a trap? To lure us here with that thing?"

"That would be the logical conclusion."

"Well... damn! But how would they have known we had it? Even if they knew the Fabona were sending it to the Teenaxians, we were supposed to have gotten rid of it by now."

"Yes... However, the fact is we had not... and I logged it in the archive vault. Anyone who has access to unclassified Starfleet records could have found that it was still on board."

The two exchanged glances, Spock's clear and calculating, McCoy's horrified.

"So you're saying those bastards who attacked us... have access to our records?"

"Or had bribed or blackmailed someone who does."

"Dammit!"

For once, Spock was inclined to agree with McCoy's sentiment.

"We need to warn the others... _if_ there's anyone else still left," McCoy finally said, almost to himself.

"Leonard, it is highly unlikely that they captured our crew only to murder them. With their superior technology, it would have been easy to simply shoot down each escape pod. The fact that they captured them instead would indicate that they have some purpose for them — perhaps forced labor of some sort — but for the moment, I believe it is safe to assume that most of them are still alive."

"Small mercies," McCoy replied in a whisper. "There's no telling what horrors they're going through."

"Which is why we must try to locate any survivors not captured by the enemy and attempt to rescue those who are."

McCoy met Spock's gaze with weary resignation. "In the morning, though. We can't go around stumbling in the dark with no map or any idea of where we're going. At least we have some shelter here... such as it is."

Spock watched with mild curiosity as McCoy lay down beside him.

"C'm'ere. Use me as a mattress," the doctor told him while gingerly slipping one arm under his head. "I know I'm no bed of roses, but we've got to keep your core temperature up. And right now this is the best I can do."

Having grown stiff already from lying on the cold floor, Spock knew the doctor's suggestion was logical. He struggled to turn onto his uninjured side, and from there McCoy helped him to lie face-down on his Human chest. The warmth of McCoy's body was a welcome respite.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"As snug as a bug in a rug," McCoy deadpanned.

Spock found himself smiling in spite of their circumstances. He knew the floor could hardly be called "comfortable," having lain there himself, but his companion's sarcastic bravado was a welcome reminder that not all had been lost. When McCoy placed both hands on Spock's chilled back, trying to warm him, some of his emotions seeped through the fabric of Spock's uniform: _PROTECT-PROTECT-WORRY-PROTECT-PROTECT-FRAGILE-PROTECT-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_. Although it did not surprise Spock that the doctor, contrary to his words and demeanor, was devoted to every single one of his crewmates, the sheer _passion_ behind his feelings came as a shock. There was a heat there that far outstripped the physical warmth McCoy was offering him, a depth and breadth and strength of care that Spock had rarely experienced before.

Nyota's feelings for him were communicated in lightning-bright flashes of intense concern and adoration, tempestuous and beautiful, or languid, sultry satisfaction and glowing appreciation on the rare occasions when they made love.

Jim's was a shimmering shower of white-hot sparks, like iron striking iron on a blazing forge. Overwhelming at times in its brilliance, yet always with a challenge that dared Spock to do better, to challenge Jim in return.

But McCoy's emotion was an altogether different entity. It felt as vast as the fathomless reaches of space, as unending as the perpetual nuclear reaction of a star, as bright and powerful and impossible to stare at as a red supergiant. And yet there was _healing_ in it, a palpable sense of making right what had gone wrong, of willing open wounds to knit together and infusing life and health into failing tissue.

It took Spock's breath away.

He lay there, struggling to maintain control over his own emotions — which were fighting for dominance in his weakened state — and tried to absorb the full impact of it.

 _"Humans often mention 'healing hands' in their vernacular,"_ he considered with renewed respect. _"Perhaps there is more to it than the metaphorical sense..."_

As McCoy's breathing slowed and he drifted into sleep, the strength of his feelings grew somewhat muted and easier to bear. Now Spock could notice something else of interest: McCoy's heartbeat. Like Nyota's, it was far slower than a Vulcan's. Also like Nyota's, it reminded Spock of his mother. It had been a long time since he had been a child young enough to permit her to hold him close; since her death, he had come to regret not accepting her shows of affection more. The slow, steady beat had always had a calming effect on him. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out as he counted the beats. He realized he was warm now and as comfortable as could be expected with such a serious injury. Even his logical mind could experience gratitude for the doctor's excellent care. His emotions, rising dangerously close to the surface, were suffused with it.

 _"_ _Goodnight, Doctor,"_ Spock thought as he closed his eyes. _"I would most likely not be alive now if not for your expertise. If we get out of this... when we get out of this, I must find a way to thank you sufficiently."_


	2. Chapter 2: Respect and Gratitude

Once the threat to Yorktown had been neutralized and Jim rescued, McCoy still had to figure out how to land the alien craft.

"Y'know what, find me another pool and I'll splash down," he finally decided. "We may drown if we can't get to the surface, but at least we won't damage anything else or kill innocent civilians in the process."

"The closest available reservoir is 1.5 kilometers away at approximately 9 o'clock," Spock told him, calling up the schematic map on McCoy's viewscreen. He refrained from informing the doctor that when he had grabbed Jim to pull him into the craft, he had torn his injury again. He could feel the blood seeping through his uniform but he knew there was nothing to be done for it at the moment.

"All right, here we go... Hang on!"

The impact with the water was not as rough as expected — McCoy managed to decelerate and approach it at a low altitude, keeping the nose slightly elevated to allow them to glide for a while. He eased the craft into a turn that brought them to the walkway along the pool just before the nose dipped under.

"Great job, Bones!" Jim said with an exhilarated laugh. "Let's get outta here."

"Couldn't agree more," McCoy said as he opened the hatch. All three of them exited the craft and swam the short distance to shore. Spock, however, could not lift himself out of the water. McCoy, coming up beside him, noticed his distress.

"Jim! We gotta help him," he called, quickly putting an arm round the Vulcan to help keep him afloat.

"I fear I may have reopened my injury," Spock told him at last.

"Dammit, Spock! You might've said something sooner!"

With Jim pulling and the doctor pushing, they got Spock onto the pavement where he rolled over, exhausted, to lie on his back.

"Get me a med-pack!" McCoy yelled as he hauled himself out of the water; Jim was already sprinting to the nearest service post. The doctor raised Spock's shirt and grimaced. "Dammit, you're bleeding again. At least now I'll have some decent tools to patch you up with."

"I am certain... I could not be in better hands, Doctor," Spock said, trying without success to regulate his breathing. He did not flinch when one of those hands touched the side of his face, conveying what McCoy could not express in words: _HEAL-HEAL-FIX-HEAL-HEAL-HELP_. Over the course of their ordeal, Spock had grown accustomed to the doctor's intense emotions, which seemed to flow into his own consciousness more freely the more time they spent in close proximity. Now he did not even need to be in direct physical contact to know what the Human was feeling — it was as though an empathic link had been forged between them, although Spock assumed he had merely learned to anticipate McCoy's responses. He closed his eyes and rested in the confidence that the doctor could and would heal him in the best manner possible.

"Here," Jim panted out while thrusting the med-pack to McCoy, who immediately grabbed the regenerator. Several Starfleet officers came running up, having transported to their location, and offered their assistance.

"Just give me a minute to stanch the bleeding," McCoy told them. "Once he's stabilized, we need to get him to the closest hospital."

"Can you get a hover-bed?" Jim asked, sending a lieutenant dashing back to the transporter. By the time it materialized and she brought it over, Spock was feeling no pain from his injury.

"I believe I can walk now if you will assist me to stand up," he began but was quickly cut off.

"Like hell you will! I'm ordering you to complete bed rest for 24 hours and restricted duty for a week!" McCoy growled.

"Doctor, that seems excessive—"

"Spock, listen to him," Jim interrupted. "It's not like we've got a ship to get back to right away, so just... take it easy for a while, all right?"

Spock nodded, realizing he was outranked and outnumbered. "Understood."

Two of the larger officers carefully picked him up and set him on the lowered hover-bed under the doctor's watchful eye, then escorted them to the nearest hospital. Since Jim was hailed by Admiral Paris and requested to meet her for a debriefing, he left Spock in McCoy's care and hurried off in the other direction.

"It's been a hell of a ride," McCoy muttered as he walked alongside the hover-bed, "but at least we made it out alive... and more or less in one piece."

"Agreed," Spock said. He reached out to grab McCoy's hand, which flooded him with _RELIEF-RELIEF-GLAD-RELIEF-RELIEF-SAFE_. "Thank you, Doctor... for keeping me in 'one piece.'"

"Just doing my job," McCoy responded gruffly before pulling out the medical tricorder with his free hand. "Although the next time you decide to get impaled on a hostile planet, wander around with no emergency supplies, then take a joyride in an alien death-trap, I'd appreciate it if you dragged someone _else_ along with you."

Spock smiled. All of McCoy's words were a deflection of his embarrassment, he now knew — especially when he could feel the Human's powerful emotions directly through his skin: _SAFE-SAFE-ALIVE-ALIVE-GLAD-GLAD-HAPPY-WORRY_.

"Spock, are you feeling all right?" the doctor asked. "I don't mean to insult an injured man, but you just looked like you were _smiling_."

Spock laughed, sending more shockwaves of concern through McCoy. "I am fine, Leonard. You could say I am almost feeling... halfway Human."

"Dear God, we need to get your blood count up!" McCoy exclaimed, pulling his hand away to work the tricorder. "Tell the hospital to have a liter of universal plasma ready in a rapid infuser and a hypospray with anti-microbial solution. He's also going to need an infusion of nutrients high in amino acids, then I'll need a dermal regenerator..."

Spock closed his eyes and decided to let the good doctor do all of the worrying for both of them.

"How are you feeling?"

Nyota's gentle touches were filled with concern and tenderness. Spock clasped her hand in his and smiled.

"I am feeling fine... and well rested. How are _you_ feeling?"

The pause before she spoke communicated volumes through their skin. "I'm all right."

"I sense that this has been a traumatic experience for you." Spock stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I am sorry you had to witness the deaths of so many crew members. Have you seen the ship's counselor yet?"

"He's... He was killed in the initial attack," she told him. "They've assigned several counselors from Yorktown to the crew, though. I'll be seeing someone this afternoon... a Dr. Hathaway."

The door opened and McCoy, white-clad in the official hospital uniform, walked in.

"Ah! There's the best medicine I can't prescribe. How are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"Fine, and you?"

"Better than expected after drinking unfiltered water on that godforsaken planet. I'm putting in a request to Starfleet to incorporate a panel of microbial filtration fabric on every uniform, just for such a contingency. _And_ that they equip every pair of boots with a hypospray and some basic medication. That's the last time I want to be caught so unprepared!"

Uhura chuckled at the doctor's usual ire and moved to the head of the bed so he could read the monitor.

"Thank you for keeping Spock safe," she said with heartfelt sincerity after catching his eye. "If you hadn't been with him... I don't even want to think about what might have happened."

"Well, it didn't," he reminded her, "so you needn't worry your pretty head over it. He's fit as a fiddle now, so I'm going to release him into your care. I'm counting on you to make sure he doesn't overexert himself."

"Yes, Doctor," she happily replied.

"Thank you, Doctor," Spock said, sitting up slowly. "It is my belief that no other chief medical officer could have sustained my health, under those difficult circumstances, as admirably as you did. Also, should you ever wish to consider a change in your career, I believe you would make an excellent helmsman."

McCoy snorted. "Just don't volunteer me to pilot any more alien spacecraft on suicide missions, all right? Now get out of here!"

He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at them.

"Oh, I almost forgot — tomorrow is Jim's birthday. Can you both make it to the party? I sent everyone a message with the details about an hour ago."

"Oh! Yes, I saw it. I'll be there," Uhura answered.

"I must write my report," Spock said hesitantly. "But perhaps I will stop by to wish the Captain well."

"No more than one hour of work at a time, Spock!" McCoy said. "Doctor's orders."

"Of course. I will comply."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

When Uhura left his quarters for her appointment with the counselor, Spock looked up the Yorktown directory for jewelers. After reviewing pictures of the wares sold at several of them, he decided to visit three. At the second one he found what he considered the perfect choice, but he went to the third just to be sure. Having found nothing there that surpassed his earlier selection, he returned to make the purchase, then asked the computer for McCoy's current location. Informed that the doctor was at the venue where Jim's party was planned for the next day, Spock moved at a brisk pace to catch him there.

"...and let's have some of these esca-rolls too," McCoy was telling an attendant. "I think we could use as many fresh vitamins as we can get."

"Doctor," Spock called to announce his presence.

"Spock! What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you. But please, I did not intend to interrupt your preparations."

"Well, I think this will about do it. You see anything else on this menu you want?"

Spock quickly scanned the PADD, noting the prices on the items already highlighted. "There seem to be enough alcoholic beverages to inebriate the entire crew. I was under the impression that only senior staff were invited?"

"Yeah, but don't forget how much Jim and Scotty can put away on their own, let alone Chekov! More to the point, do you think we have enough food?"

Spock reviewed the hors d'oeuvres selections. "May I suggest a platter of brown rice and cucumber rolls? The complex carbohydrate should help offset the effects of alcohol."

"Good idea. And let's add a platter of pasta-wrapped meatballs. They're actually made from soybeans," he added to Spock. "This place is completely vegan. But don't tell Jim — what he doesn't know won't hurt his triglycerides."

"My lips are sealed," Spock replied with some amusement.

"Okay, that should do it," McCoy told the attendant, authorizing payment from his account on the PADD. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Leonard," Spock said in an undertone as they turned to walk out of the establishment, "by my calculations, the total cost of this party will be—"

" _Not_ an object," McCoy finished. "This is a... special one for Jim. Plus I was just offered a temporary position at the teaching hospital here. Technically I'm going to be 'on loan' from Starfleet, so I'll be getting a handsome stipend in addition to my Starfleet salary. Although I'm touched by your concern, there's no need to worry — I won't be reduced to doing backyard surgeries to make ends meet."

"I'm pleased to hear that your talents will be put to good use while the Enterprise is re-built."

"Thanks. But what did you want to see me for, anyway? I thought you'd be... you know, spending time with your girlfriend."

"The Lieutenant is currently at an appointment with her trauma counselor. I suspect, even from what little she has told me of her experience on Altamid, that her recovery process will be a long and possibly arduous one."

"Well, that's understandable. If you want to know how you can help her along, there are a couple of courses I can recommend."

"You misunderstand me, Doctor," Spock said, coming to a halt in the middle of the walkway. McCoy followed suit and faced him. "I came to see you regarding another matter entirely."

"Oh?"

"While I realize that sometimes your remarks are meant to be hyperbolic or spurious, I did not wish you to truly think I am ungrateful of your actions. And I hoped to find a tangible way to express my respect and gratitude." Spock brought out a small box that he had been holding behind his back. "I can assure you, it is not radioactive in any way."

McCoy stared, dumbfounded, at the box Spock held out to him.

"Please, Leonard. It is only a small token."

After looking back and forth between Spock's face and the box a few times, McCoy finally reached up to open it. There was a simple charm pendant inside.

"You're giving me _jewelry?"_

"It is a plain piece, but I chose it for two reasons: its flatness, which would allow you to wear it under your uniform if you so choose, and its color." Spock met McCoy's astounded gaze with an uplifted eyebrow. "You _did_ ask me what my favorite color is."

"I did?" McCoy asked. "Oh! Yeah, I guess I did."

"While you may not have been interested in the answer itself, I hope you might find it... interesting. This pale blue is... _was_... the color of the Vulcan sky in the early morning. My mother used to say it was bright with the promise of a new day — of new beginnings. And since I am fortunate enough to have more mornings to enjoy, I thought it would be appropriate for my gift to you, to whom I owe my very life."

"Spock, I... I don't know what to say..." McCoy stammered.

"I do believe that is a first," Spock returned blithely. "Will you do me the honor of accepting it?"

"Of course! I... Well, I... um..." He cleared his throat and started afresh. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

"I am glad to hear it."

When McCoy gingerly took the piece by the chain and held it up, Spock noticed that the renowned surgeon's hand was trembling.

"Leonard... if you will allow me..."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that might be better..."

Spock took the pendant and walked around McCoy to clasp it behind his neck. The pale blue disc fell just above his shirt and below the freckle at the bottom of his throat.

"Thanks. It's... beautiful. You didn't have to, you know."

Spock allowed a faint smile to curve his lips. "I know. But I _wanted_ to."


	3. Chapter 3: Flashbacks

"Nyota, there is something I must tell you," Spock said, pulling back to extricate himself from her arms. Uhura had dragged him into her quarters while kissing him when he arrived exactly one hour after the party. He had dutifully worked on his report for the maximum time allowed by his attending physician before permitting himself to enjoy the benefits of their unplanned shore leave.

"What is it?" she demanded breathlessly, her hands still holding his head and throbbing _LUST-LUST-WANT-WANT-LUST-LUST-NOW_ into his mind. He grabbed her wrists to remove them so he could think more clearly.

"The pendant... has a mild radioactive signature," he managed. "While the radiation is not strong enough to be harmful to you in any way, it is still identifiable because of its unique properties."

"Oh? And why are you telling me this now?" she asked, confused but unconcerned.

"Dr. McCoy put it in terms of a 'tracking device' and indicated that... perhaps it might be distasteful for you to realize that it could function as such."

"I don't care, Spock," she declared, grabbing his Vulcan tunic by the sleeves. "All I care about right now is that _you_ are functioning at peak efficiency."

"I believe I am," he began, thinking to add some acknowledgement of the doctor's expert care, but Uhura had started kissing him again and rendered verbal speech impossible.

One of the benefits of dating a Vulcan, Uhura insisted, was that it took him a very long time to climax, even though this meant that they had to plan their nights together carefully and try to get the same days off-duty. Tonight it had taken an especially long time, during which she had experienced no fewer than five orgasms. She now lay sleeping, exhausted but thoroughly sated. Spock held her naked body close, both his hands pressed to her skin, but could feel only a faint sense of satisfaction. This was to be expected — it was usual for him to lose almost all empathic communication with her when she slept — so it did not trouble him; however, it raised a point of interest, since he had been able to sense McCoy's emotions even when he had been asleep, not to mention through the barrier of his uniform. It was a matter of scientific interest for Spock.

He would at times catch brief flashes of emotion from Uhura when she was dreaming, but nothing more. He wondered if McCoy had not been asleep, then dismissed that notion since he distinctly remembered hearing the doctor snore. _"So then, do different Humans feel emotions with different degrees of intensity?"_ This seemed to be the most logical answer. The raw power of McCoy's emotions while he was awake had surprised Spock, so it seemed reasonable to assume that the same level of intensity was carried over into his sleep. _"If he is genetically predisposed to feel with such intensity at all times, it must be difficult to act rationally at all."_

And yet Spock knew from experience that the doctor was quite capable of dealing with medical emergencies in a calm, rational manner. Despite his brusque attitude and harsh words, his treatments were always appropriate and professional. Most patients and nurses were willing to bear his crusty bedside manner precisely because he was so skilled in the art of medicine.

 _"Which means he has had to overcome a greater handicap than most to become so adept,"_ Spock surmised. _"A significant accomplishment indeed."_

In light of this conclusion, Spock was doubly glad that he had decided to present the doctor with his gift. The fleeting contact he had had with McCoy when affixing the pendant to his neck had flooded him with _SURPRISED-AMAZED-CONFUSED-EMBARRASSED-GLAD-HAPPY-AMAZED-EMBARRASSED_. While it had not been his intent to embarrass him, Spock hoped that, after the initial moment, gladness would be the strongest emotion.

 _"Dr. McCoy often treats patients during combat or other emergency situations,"_ he mused. _"Perhaps because of that, or because he is perceived to be merely fulfilling his duties, he is not thanked much... although his own reception of such gestures may inhibit others from expressing their gratitude."_

The thought made Spock smile. He had found himself irrepressibly amused — when exhausted and in pain, causing his emotions to get the better of him — by the doctor's comment about throwing a celebratory party at the news of Spock leaving Starfleet, since it had been diametrically opposed to McCoy's feelings of _WORRY-WORRY-DISLIKE-DISLIKE-SAD-SAD-DISTRACT_ that had been conveyed very clearly across the short space between them. Combined with his earlier feelings of _PROTECT-PROTECT-WORRY-PROTECT-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_ , Spock knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that McCoy's preceding remark of "I don't know what he'd do without you" was in fact a reflection of his own response, not Jim's alone.

Spock wondered how many of the other Humans realized that McCoy's gruff words were deceiving, or at least a disguise of his deeply-felt emotions, and to what extent. _"Many are quite intuitive,"_ he thought, looking over at Uhura where she lay sleeping, _"and being controlled by emotions themselves, perhaps they understand the need to deflect scrutiny from their true feelings. But without the benefit of empathic communication, not all can possibly comprehend the depths of Leonard's compassion... as well as the lengths to which he goes in his attempts to hide it."_

Uhura stirred and Spock felt a slight surge of contentment emanate from her as she settled into a more comfortable position.

 _"Jim must understand the complexities of Leonard's discordant verbal communication better than anyone else, having been his friend for so long,"_ he continued to ponder. _"As do perhaps the nurses who have worked alongside him. I believe Mr. Sulu has smiled at his comments on multiple occasions, and even Nyota seemed amused by his recommendations for improving the uniforms rather than appreciative. It is possible that I am one of the few who had not realized his surly attitude is more... bombastic than substantial."_

And yet Spock also knew McCoy could be brutally honest when voicing his opinions. In their very first private conversation, Spock had welcomed his candid comments and McCoy had made a passionate (if not particularly logical) case for not marooning Jim, which had later been proven out. His objection to Spock's coldblooded handling of the situation had also taught the Vulcan — in hindsight — much about Human emotional responses. And during the incident with Khan, while the doctor's emotional outburst against Spock's logic had initially seemed irresponsible, his gut instinct that Khan could not be trusted had also been proven correct.

 _"Both Leonard and Jim seem capable of making intuitive judgments which are surprisingly accurate despite the limited amount of information. While it would be illogical to rely on such unfounded methods on a regular basis, in crisis situations their decision-making processes have served them well. Perhaps their intuition is based on subtle empathic or even telepathic impressions — they must be gathering data, possibly without being aware of it themselves, through non-verbal communication also."_

Spock had been impressed with how quickly McCoy had figured out how to fly the alien craft, especially considering that the last time the doctor had piloted anything must have been years ago at the Academy. Remembering his indignation at being taken on a "joyride" in the "alien death-trap" made Spock chuckle, which in turn roused Uhura, who opened her eyes with something like suspicion growing in her mind.

"Did you just laugh?" she asked.

"I'm sorry — I did not mean to wake you."

"Can't you sleep?"

"I was... thinking."

"About what?"

Spock paused to stroke her back with one hand. "About... Dr. McCoy. Something droll he had said."

Uhura sat up with waves of displeasure emanating from her. Spock did not need to be touching her to sense it.

"Why are you upset?"

She stood and pulled on her Vulcan sleeping robe — Spock's gift for her last birthday — before answering.

"We finally get to spend the night together after... how many weeks apart? And you're thinking about _Dr. McCoy?"_

Spock tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that occurred any time he offended Uhura without understanding exactly why.

"He has been on my mind much lately, which should come as no surprise after the time we spent together."

"I get it — I do, really — the two of you went through some... awful times together," Uhura said, then sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "But I thought _you_ were the one with the mental discipline here. Why would you bring that up _now?_ When we're _together?"_

"I... I was not dredging up the trauma of our experience, Nyota... simply recalling an amusing comment Leonard had made about it. He was being... overly dramatic, as usual. I had thought you found his hyperbole to be humorous as well?"

"Oh, sure, but... is that more 'fascinating' than _us_? Can't we even have _one night_ where it's not about our work and our mission and everything else?"

Spock considered this for a moment before answering, "Since we are both involved in the same work with the same mission, I believe any reference to it is, by definition, part of 'us.'"

Uhura made an exasperated sound. "Spock, we're supposed to be having a romantic night together! How would you feel if I started talking about other crew members? Like how Sulu almost died but Ensign Syl saved him, only to be killed herself? Or how Krall sucked the life out of the others and started _looking_ like them?"

"Nyota," he responded, placing his hands on her shoulders in what he had learned was a soothing gesture, "I am sorry if my reflections seem to be a distraction from our time together. I _had_ allowed my attention to wander, but only because you were asleep. However, if you would like to discuss your experiences with me, I would consider it an honor. I only wish to help you find serenity and happiness, _T'hy'la_."

The sadness, confusion, distress, and regret she projected was almost overwhelming. Spock embraced her as she began to cry.

"I'm so sorry... it's not fair to you," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I just... I can't even explain it..."

"Shhh," Spock whispered. "It's all right. You've been through a terrible experience; you must allow yourself more time to heal. And I am glad that you feel safe enough with me to share this."

While he continued to calm her as best he could, Spock remembered that McCoy had mentioned courses he could recommend for exactly this purpose. He made a mental note to ask the doctor about them at the next opportunity.

A/N: Later chapters will not be posted here due to explicit content. Please find this story on AO3 or my website, Thea Nishimori at Word Press dot com.


	4. Chapter 4: Complexity

Over the next few days, Spock grew increasingly restless as he was forced by Dr. McCoy's orders to work only one hour out of every two. He filled his downtime with meditation and relaxation, but there were many things to be done to prepare for the construction of the new Enterprise and he was — not frustrated, of course — desirous of getting back to his regular duties. Uhura was seeing the counselor more often and for longer blocks of time as well, so he found himself at loose ends during his non-working hours, although he was sincerely glad that she was seeking help to recover from her trauma.

Every time he asked the computer where McCoy was and what he was doing, the answer came back that he was at the hospital teaching or performing an operation. The realization that the doctor, who had gone through a rather trying ordeal himself, was already back to a full schedule did rankle Spock a bit if he were being honest with himself. He could have simply requested an appointment; however, since McCoy's orders had been explicit, he felt there was little chance of the irascible physician changing his mind.

One day after he had finished his last hour of duty permitted, Spock asked the computer again (almost by habit) what McCoy was doing.

"Dr. McCoy is at the 8th District Hospital. He will be performing a demonstration surgery of how to manually remove necrotic cysts from a patient with Oyenusi Syndrome, starting in approximately 6 minutes."

Curious about the disease, Spock looked it up and skimmed the brief, but his thoughts were more on the fact that this was a teaching surgery — and that the hospital would probably allow him, as a Science Officer with Starfleet, to watch from the gallery. He double-checked with the computer and received confirmation in the affirmative, so he swiftly made his way to the hospital, where a receptionist gave him directions to the gallery. He was surprised at how few seats were still empty but managed to find one in the back row. Another doctor had just finished describing the specifics of the patient's condition and then introduced Dr. McCoy.

"Okay, first things first: this is going to be a barbaric procedure," McCoy's distinctive voice rang out over the speakers as he glanced up at the windows surrounding the operating room. "It's one of the few surgeries we still have to do the old-fashioned way because even our newest and best equipment can't distinguish between the healthy tissue and infected tissue. The dead tissue, of course, is easy enough to spot; the infected but still living tissue is much trickier, but it has to be completely eradicated or the disease will continue to spread. If any of you have a weak stomach, I would recommend stepping out now."

From that point on the doctor donned magnifying glasses and worked on the patient, cutting open the thoracic region and prying apart the ribs to expose the left lung. His assistant then brought over a large light that shone in the ultraviolet spectrum.

"The key here is to only have _one_ light source," McCoy instructed. "Although you'll have to move it around to light the tissue from every angle, if you have multiple light sources they will create shadows and you could miss some spots. So now it just becomes a game of patience — it's tedious and monotonous, but you have to find every single speck of the infection. You have to _hate_ the disease with every fiber of your being, as if it's hurting the people you love most dearly, and take every damn _cell_ of it out with a vengeance!"

Spock was shocked when he felt a wave of anger hit him from the direction of the operating room. Although it seemed illogical, he knew he was feeling McCoy's actual emotions, despite their being separated by a significant distance and soundproof windows. Spock did not think the doctor's emotions, as powerful as they were, could be that strong; he began to suspect that over the course of their time together, he himself had become attuned to McCoy — like a radio tuned in to a specific frequency — which now allowed him to perceive the Human's feelings with greater sensitivity.

All through the long operation, Spock could feel surges of aggravation and at times downright aggression emanating from McCoy. The doctor truly hated the disease and was determined to not leave behind a single infected cell in his patient. By the time he moved on to the right lung, many of the onlookers had grown bored and left, but Spock was fascinated by the methodical precision with which McCoy searched for and removed the affected tissue. Almost two hours later, when McCoy was finally satisfied that no spots remained, the assisting surgeon took over and closed the cavity with regenerators. Spock made his way out of the gallery to the hallway where McCoy emerged a short while later.

"Spock! What're you doing here?"

"Since I had worked the maximum hours allowed for today, I decided to broaden my knowledge by attending your surgery. I must say your concentration was impressive."

"Well, I don't mind telling you I'm exhausted. That was the worst case I've ever seen! Shift the light a few degrees and a whole 'nuther crop of them showed up! I need a drink. More importantly, I need to change. You wanna come up to my office? It's small but it's got a nice view."

"I would be... delighted."

"Ha! You, 'delighted'?" McCoy jibed as he led the way to a turbolift.

"I was merely using a common Human expression... but I am pleased to know they have provided you with adequate facilities."

"Adequate! This place is a dream. All the latest equipment plus two research facilities that are developing cutting-edge devices and techniques. I couldn't ask for better."

They walked out onto one of the higher-level floors and McCoy navigated the maze-like corridors while describing some of the technological advances he had seen since being assigned to this post.

"A lot of this stuff hasn't been published yet, so I wouldn't have known about them if I weren't working here," he concluded as he opened the door to his office. "Make yourself at home — or better yet, make yourself useful and pour us some drinks. There's bourbon and tumblers in the lower left desk drawer."

While McCoy went into the bathroom and activated the shower, Spock retrieved two glasses and poured a finger of bourbon in each. He could not help but notice the two other objects on the desk: a small spherical replica of Yorktown and a holograph panel, currently turned off. He picked up the model to examine its intricate details and was surprised when white bits of what looked to be resin-polymer material swirled in the bottom. They were too undefined to be shuttlecraft and too numerous, anyway, to be an accurate representation of the crafts inside the space station. Mystified, he raised an eyebrow as he set it back down. The view of the actual station from the window was, as McCoy had claimed, aesthetically pleasing.

The doctor came out of the bathroom in street clothes with his hair still slightly damp. "Ah, there's the stuff!" he said with a sigh and grabbed a glass. He inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. "Nectar of the gods!"

Spock did the same, and although he did not often imbibe alcoholic drinks, he found the fruity note of apricot to be pleasant.

"So how's Lieutenant Uhura doing?" McCoy asked.

"She is... doing well, I believe. She has increased her sessions with Counselor Hathaway," Spock answered.

"Oh, she got Hathaway? She's a good doctor, as far as shrinks go. I've heard she tends to take more time than most, but that's a good thing sometimes." McCoy pulled open a different drawer and grabbed a PADD. "I'm guessing you stopped by for those courses I promised."

"That was one of my reasons, yes."

"I put them all in here — I meant to give this to you yesterday but got stuck in emergency surgeries the whole afternoon. Mudzuri and Kwang's is the best, in my opinion, since they cover all the bases and have them systematically organized. Sidorova has some good points too; she treats a lot of trauma cases by applying grief counseling techniques, which makes sense when the patient has suffered losses — whether it's the loss of physical abilities or the loss of... crewmates. And Dollinger has done extensive research on survivor guilt, so his insights should be helpful."

"Thank you, Doctor," Spock said as he accepted the PADD. "I appreciate your looking into this."

"Ah, don't mention it!" McCoy brushed it off verbally but Spock could sense his pleasure and satisfaction. "Here, if you don't need to rush off to see your girlfriend, pull up a seat and stay a while — and bring me up to speed on the Enterprise A."

Spock sat on the couch, noting that it was a daybed, while McCoy took the facing armchair and put his feet up on the coffee table. As Spock described the progress being made on the new ship, the doctor poured himself three more fingers, which steadily disappeared.

"You should have received the schematics for sickbay by now," Spock added. "If you have any design changes or input, it would be best to submit them before the bulkheads are put in."

"From what I saw it looked like a better design than our last Enterprise, so I have no complaints. The only changes I'm requesting are for the biobeds — there are more ergonomic ones available, although they _are_ more expensive. We'll just have to wait and see if they're approved."

McCoy was explaining about the new tricorders being tested at a facility on Earth when Spock was hailed.

"Excuse me," he said politely before opening his communicator. "Spock here."

"Where _are_ you?" Uhura asked, audibly upset. "You've been gone for _hours_."

"I am at the 8th District Hospital with Dr. McCoy. Is anything wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong, except I didn't know where you were... and I don't have the security clearance to search your location unless a Red Alert has been issued."

"I am sorry, Nyota — I had not meant to cause you concern. I should be returning shortly."

"All right. Just... let me know if you're going to be gone for so long, okay? I know it's silly to worry, but I do."

"Understood." Spock turned off his communicator to find McCoy smirking at him.

"You'd better run along, then," the doctor teased. "You wouldn't want to make her worry."

"No..." Spock replied, but he was feeling an undercurrent of sadness from McCoy that he could not understand. "I suppose that would be... unwise."

"I'll walk out with you," McCoy said as he stood up and set his glass on the desk. "I should heed my own advice and not drink on an empty stomach."

Spock put his glass next to the other and paused when he saw the Yorktown model.

"Doctor, what do the white movable pieces in this signify?"

"What?" McCoy asked in return, then saw what Spock had indicated. "It's snow, Spock — that's a snow globe. Y'know, those kitschy things they sell to tourists?" Noting Spock's blank look, McCoy picked up the globe and gave it a good shake and a twist, causing the snow bits to swirl around as in a miniature blizzard. "When we first approached the Yorktown, I called it a 'snow globe in space, just waiting to be broken.' So what does Jim do as soon as we get back from the Altamid catastrophe? Buy me a snow globe of Yorktown, 'just to remind me of the fragility of life,' he said. As if I didn't have enough things to worry about!"

Spock watched the snow settle with some confusion. "It does seem to be a rather... macabre memento."

"Well, Jim's always hassling me about facing my fears... and getting back up on the horse that threw me." McCoy put the globe back on its stand, sending off a jumble of irritation, anger, and pain that confused Spock even further. "That's all fine and well for _him_. But for some of us... it's just not that simple."

Before Spock could ask him to elaborate, McCoy was walking out the door of his office.

"C'mon, Spock — no sense getting you in hot water with Uhura."

Spock followed him but became alarmed at the intensity of sadness he felt when he drew closer to the Human. When they entered the turbolift, Spock was able to distinguish loneliness and despair in the morass of emotions McCoy was exuding. It was almost more than the Vulcan could bear.

"Leonard, you mentioned getting something to eat. Will Jim be joining you?"

"Oh, no — he's been dating an engineer from one of the hydroponics labs here. I think he's taking this birthday rather hard... he's talking about settling down and stuff, which is just crazy talk coming from him."

"I was not aware of that," Spock said, then began anew, "I was wondering, if you have no other plans, if you would care to join Nyota and me for dinner."

"Spock!" McCoy exclaimed, horrified. "Are you _mad?_ Dammit, is there something toxic in the water here? First Jim, now you..."

"I do not understand what could be so... problematic," Spock asked, trying to concentrate on his thoughts rather than the feelings bombarding him, "about inviting a friend and valued coworker for a meal."

"My God, man! Just when I think there might be hope for you..." McCoy trailed off, dramatically slapping his forehead. "Look, Uhura just called you, upset because she didn't know where you'd been for a couple of hours. Isn't it obvious that she wants — maybe even _needs_ — to spend time with you? _Alone?_ Not with someone else barging in on your private time."

Spock had to admit the doctor's logic was sound. "That is a... possibility... although I do not believe she was upset to such a degree."

McCoy sighed as the turbolift reached the ground floor. Since there were people waiting to get on, he held his tongue until they were out and heading to the nearest transporter station. "Listen, Spock, I may be the least qualified person to give you relationship advice, but the one thing I can tell you is that women — Earth women, anyway — are _subtle_ in their cues. You need to figure out how to read them, although I can't for the life of me tell you how. But if she's called to check up on you when you haven't been gone for more than a few hours, believe me, the last thing she wants is for you to bring someone home with you. And although I appreciate your offer, the last thing _I_ want to be is a third wheel."

"A... 'third wheel'?" Spock echoed, indicating his lack of familiarity with the term.

"Yeah, you know, the pathetic single friend tagging along with a couple, trying to make small talk while the two lovebirds are having entire conversations with just their eyes." McCoy stopped at last, having reached the transporter station, and turned to face Spock. "I don't care how hungry I am or how good the food is, if she starts whispering sweet nothings into your pointy-ass ears, I'm gonna _hurl_. And by 'hurl' I mean _vomit_."

Spock was left openmouthed, not so much by the bluntness of McCoy's words but by the sheer force and complexity of the feelings battering him: SAD-LONELY-IRRITATED-ANGRY-JEALOUS-SAD-PAIN-HURT-AVOID-ALONE-SAD-ENVY-RAGE-LONELY-HOPELESS-SAD.

"I... I am sorry," Spock managed, "I did not realize... it would be so... distasteful."

McCoy took a deep breath and suddenly the assault of emotions lessened. "Don't apologize, Spock — _I'm_ sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you only meant to be nice, but it's just... not gonna work out. Especially when your girlfriend's still recovering from a traumatic experience." He tapped the PADD in Spock's hands with one finger. "Work through some of those courses — they'll help you more than I ever could."

"Of course. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," McCoy mumbled before leaving Spock standing there, still stunned from the impact of what he had felt.


	5. Chapter 5: Green-Eyed Monster

Spock internally acknowledged the wisdom of McCoy's statements when he entered Uhura's quarters and found her cooking an elaborate meal. Though they usually went out to one of the many restaurants available in Yorktown — since their choices were limited while on board the Enterprise — it seemed Uhura had developed a sudden craving for chapatis and sukuma wiki.

"It smells delicious in here," he said as he set the PADD on the edge of the counter and bent to kiss her forehead. "How can I help?"

"The chapatis are almost ready to be flipped," she answered with a warm smile. "I found a shop here that sells piri piri, so I just _had_ to have some!"

Spock washed his hands and watched in alarm as she put a generous amount of the ground hot peppers into a pot of rice. Picante spices did not always agree with him. However, he refrained from commenting and flipped the chapatis as requested.

"So... how was Dr. McCoy?"

Though her tone was nonchalant, Spock knew her well enough by now to realize it was a studied indifference. He was startled to discover that she was actually, to some degree, _jealous_ of his spending time with the doctor.

"He is fine... and keeping quite busy," Spock carefully replied. "I saw that he was performing a teaching surgery and thought it would be interesting to observe. I had not realized it would take two full hours."

"Oh, that _is_ a long time! Was it a complicated surgery?"

"More tedious than complicated. I was impressed with the doctor's ability to concentrate for the entire duration. When he was finished, he invited me to his new office, where we discussed the plans for the Enterprise A."

"Anything exciting?"

"Not particularly." Spock paused before adding, "I had also asked the doctor for some courses in Human psychology to learn how to be more supportive of your recovery."

Uhura fumbled with a lid, nearly dropping it, but managed to settle it on the pot of ugali. "You... you did that for me?"

"Of course."

Spock was stifled when Uhura leapt up to kiss him with a fervor she had never displayed before. The direct contact also flooded him with her emotions — wild and chaotic, which was so uncharacteristic of her as to be shocking. Despite her effusive feelings, though, he noted with relief that all traces of jealousy had disappeared.

* * *

They did not make love that night since Uhura had to work the next day, but Spock felt that simply lying next to her and stroking her back while she slept was just as intimate as the physical act of sex. It was gratifying to know she enjoyed his company — enjoyed waking up next to him and going through their morning routines together. So much so, he reflected, that she jealously guarded her time with him.

 _"'Beware of jealousy, the green-eyed monster, which mocks the meat upon which it feeds,'"_ he vaguely recalled. _"I would not have thought my spending time with Dr. McCoy would give her any cause for alarm... but perhaps even small things seem like greater issues since she is in a more vulnerable state right now. Her sudden mood swings and excessive displays are obvious signs that her psyche has not regained its normal balance."_ He observed her body slowly rising and falling with her breaths and sensed the contentment that simmered in her subconscious. _"There is no reason for her to feel threatened by Leonard, after all... even if my friendship with him has deepened from going through that harrowing experience together, I am perfectly content in my relationship with her. Have I not expressed it enough lately? Perhaps because I had mentioned going to New Vulcan before, she feels I am not satisfied with our arrangement... I must find some ways to reassure her. Now that I am committed to remaining with Starfleet, she should have no need to worry about my leaving. But perhaps jealousy is one of the side effects of prolonged trauma for Humans."_

Spock's hand froze for a moment as he remembered something, causing him to withdraw it from Uhura's bare back.

 _"Leonard had feelings of jealousy and envy as well... before we parted. When I invited him, he was adamant about not wanting to be a 'third wheel' and felt... sad, lonely, and upset. Is he also experiencing the after-effects of trauma? He has been back on full duty from the day after our return, but he could be burying himself in work to avoid dealing with his emotional issues. With as deeply as he feels_ any _emotion, surely some counseling would have been in order... but of course, since he is the ship's chief medical officer, if he chooses not to, nobody would have the authority to force him. Except the captain... Perhaps I should speak to Jim about it; he would not want his friend to struggle alone."_

However, Spock knew that going above someone's head to talk to a higher-ranking officer was, while logical, often counterproductive to helping said person. He was still haunted by the way Jim had looked at him when he'd found out about Spock's report to Admiral Pike. In hindsight Spock had realized that it was tantamount to a betrayal of trust — a most ungrateful way to repay the man who had risked his career to save Spock's life.

 _"No, I should not speak to Jim before confronting Leonard first. Despite his attempts at duplicity, Leonard has always been honest about matters of importance. And if he truly needs help, perhaps I will be able to encourage him to seek it. Only if that fails should I go to Jim for assistance."_

Thus resolved on how to handle the issue, Spock willed himself to sleep.

* * *

"Nyota, I may not be available this evening," Spock remarked over breakfast. "Depending on Dr. McCoy's schedule, I hope to discuss some matters with him tonight."

"Oh!" Uhura responded. "Is it... work-related?"

Spock mentally winced as he felt a wave of searing jealousy from her. He had not meant to awaken that beast again.

"Yes, of course," he answered. "It is a... personnel issue. It has come to my attention that one of the crew is refusing to see the counselor."

"I see." She took a bite of her warmed-over ugali. "But if it's work-related, can't you see him during the day?"

"His working hours are filled with surgeries and lectures at the hospital, so I believe it will be more conducive to our conversation if we meet after... especially since it is unclear how much time will be required."

"Once you inform the doctor, wouldn't it be his responsibility to follow through?"

"Ordinarily, that would be true... but this crew member may require some... persuasion. If, however, the two of us cannot resolve the situation, I will take the matter to the captain."

"It sounds serious."

"It may be." Spock set down his spoon before asking, "Nyota, would you say that your sessions with Counselor Hathaway have been helpful to you?"

"Oh, yes! I would recommend her to anybody."

Spock nodded. "Perhaps your personal recommendation, added to all the reasons why it is advisable, will help this crew member realize that it is the logical course of action." He reached out to place his hand over hers on the table. "I am glad that you are strong enough to seek help when you need it. I have observed that for many Humans, it is a difficult thing to do."

There was a burst of WORRY-WORRY-FEAR-PAIN-JEALOUSY before Uhura withdrew her hand, but her voice was steady and calm as she said, "Yes. It can be."

Although concerned, Spock decided not to pursue the matter since Uhura soon busied herself to leave for duty.

* * *

The computer informed him that the doctor was in surgery yet again, so Spock sent him a message. Over an hour later, right after he had started reviewing one of McCoy's recommended courses on Human psychology, his comm beeped.

"Spock here."

"It's McCoy. What's this about dinner tonight?"

"I thought you might enjoy some company since the captain seems to be otherwise engaged. Just the two of us, of course — I would not want you to feel like an extraneous 'third wheel.'"

There was an audible sigh. "I know you're trying to be nice, Spock, but it makes me damn uncomfortable."

"That was not my intent at all... but there is also something I wished to speak with you about."

"Oh?"

"Yes... a personal matter. In fact, it may be best to meet somewhere private. I can bring our meal to your quarters or mine, whichever you prefer."

McCoy paused before replying, "Let's use my office. There are a couple of patients I want to keep an eye on."

"Understood. What type of cuisine would you like?"

"Oh... surprise me. I'm not picky."

* * *

When Spock arrived with containers of cornbread and fried chicken, McCoy was thrilled almost beyond words.

"Ahhh, comfort food! Nothing better," he declared after taking a few bites. "And sweet tea too! Although I think it can be even better with a little nip..."

While McCoy got up to retrieve his bottle of bourbon, Spock savored the fried okra with appreciation. He usually avoided fried foods but this batter was light and crisp, leaving the okra cooked but still recognizable. The collard greens were similar to Uhura's sukuma wiki and he also liked the texture of the mashed potatoes, though he had them plain without gravy.

"Care for a drop?" McCoy offered, holding up the bottle.

"Ah... just a little," Spock answered, opening his tea container. He hoped the alcohol might cut the overpowering sugar of the drink.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" McCoy asked, sitting down to resume his dinner with relish.

"Perhaps we should wait until after."

"Oh, God — I'm not gonna like this, am I?"

Spock considered it for a moment. "Not necessarily."

"I knew it. You're just softening me up with all this," the doctor said, though surprisingly without ire. Even the curiosity Spock felt from him was muted, superseded by his genuine pleasure over the food. "Here, ya gotta try some of these baked beans."

When they had both eaten as much as they could (McCoy polishing off the macaroni-and-cheese as a point of honor), they sat sipping their tea, by now heavily laced with bourbon.

"All right, so what is this big, mysterious Thing you wanted to talk about?" McCoy asked anew.

Spock chose his words carefully. "It has come to my attention that one of the crew has not been seeing a counselor, as is recommended and required by protocol."

"Ah! You mean Jim. I know, he keeps putting it off, but the mucky-mucks keep wanting to debrief him about every little detail — so much that I hardly have the heart to nag him anymore."

"I was... not aware of that," Spock said, filing away this bit of information. "Actually, Doctor, the crewman I meant to bring to your attention is... yourself."

 _"Me?"_ McCoy exclaimed, both eyebrows shooting up. "Why the hell would _I_ need to see a counselor?"

"You were in a traumatic situation for an extended period of time, as was the rest of the crew. And yet, here you are, working full-time in a new setting with little or no leave taken to mitigate the effects of the ordeal."

The doctor snorted indelicately. "Now, Spock, I appreciate your concern — I really do — but that wasn't a _traumatic_ experience for me... maybe _trying_ , but not _traumatic_. Sure, do I wish I hadn't had to fly around in that death-trap? Absolutely. But traumatic would be if we hadn't made it in time to snatch Jim from being sucked out into space or if you'd actually managed to bleed to death before I got my hands on some decent medical supplies." He took another gulp of tea before adding, with a smirk, "You may be sad company to be marooned on an alien planet with, but you're not _that_ bad."

Spock could appreciate the humor of his comment since McCoy was exuding powerful waves of CONTENT-CONTENT-HAPPY-FUNNY-GRATEFUL-TOUCHED. He thought he was beginning to understand the crusty Human much better, so he tried to reply in kind.

"I am pleased to know that your tolerance for my company is increasing," he said blandly. "However, how can you be certain of your own diagnosis? By definition, a self-diagnosis cannot be impartial."

"I think I know enough about myself to realize if I've got a problem. And if I do, I'm in a hospital — there's practically a counselor around every corner!"

"But would you avail yourself of one if you did not feel the need?" Spock pointed out. "My concern is that if you are deep enough in denial, you would not see the warning signs."

McCoy leaned back and sighed noisily. "So, what? If I go see a shrink, will that make you happy? Scratch that — will that satisfy you?"

Spock inclined his head. "Yes, I believe it would. If their analysis shows that you are not suffering any after-effects from the Altamid Incident, I will not insist on your following the full regimen of counseling treatments recommended by regulations."

"Well, that's a relief!" Though the words were delivered with sarcasm, Spock sensed none behind them. "All right, if that's what it takes, I'll set up an appointment with one of them. But they're not gonna find any evidence of _trauma_. I'm as mentally and physically fit as I've ever been."

"Then I shall look forward to hearing so from your evaluating counselor." Spock took another sip of his tea.

"Why the sudden interest?" McCoy blurted out. Spock had been sensing his increasing curiosity so it came as no surprise. "I mean, why do you care whether I see a counselor or not?"

"Leonard... you seem to have forgotten... I am a touch empath," Spock cautiously began. "I can sense your emotions when I am in contact with you. Sometimes, if your emotions are intense, I can feel them even without any tactile support."

A long moment passed in stunned silence while McCoy tried to decipher the implications of this statement.

"So... you're sensing... that I need counseling? That I've been traumatized by what happened?"

"It would seem so." Spock set down his tea and held his palms open toward McCoy in a conciliatory attitude. "I am sorry if I intruded upon your privacy, but please believe me, it was unintentional. I did not deliberately try to read your feelings — I had no reason to. However, once I felt your pain... that deep well of sadness you try so hard to keep hidden, I could not stand idly by while you suffered in silence."

McCoy cursed under his breath, then astonished Spock by laughing.

"Oh, God! Spock... you have no idea." He poured some more bourbon into his tea before taking another swig of it. "That deep pit of depression you felt? That's not from the Altamid debacle. No, I've been acquainted with it for years now. We're old friends, really."

"Please explain," Spock urged. "That is, if you are comfortable telling me. I assure you I will keep any information you reveal strictly confidential."

McCoy laughed again, a hard edge to his tone. Spock was worried by the pain and sardonic bitterness he sensed from the Human, but there was something else in his emotions too: hope. It was faint and elusive, but Spock could tell that it was definitely there — and growing.

"You sure you want to go down this rabbit hole?" McCoy asked. "It's a long, sad story with no happy ending."

"I am sure, Leonard," Spock told him. "I'm listening."


	6. Chapter 6: Down the Rabbit Hole

McCoy contemplated his drink — at this point almost pure bourbon with only faint traces of tea, by Spock's estimate — before plunging into his story.

"I'm sure you know I was married once... divorced now, though not by choice. _That's_ the trauma I haven't gotten over. I'm not even sure it's something I can... not that I blame my ex for everything, but she did pull the rug out from under me on that one. I told her right from the get-go that my residency would be a rough time, but she swore she could tough it out. Hell, she let me move in with her for my last year of med school to save on rent... so I thought she knew what she was getting into."

He took another sip and let out a noisy sigh before continuing. Whether from the effects of the alcohol, the subject matter, or sheer exhaustion, Spock noticed that his drawl had become more pronounced.

"The problem was, even _I_ didn't know what a spell of hell my residency was gonna be. I couldn't have expected it — it was pure bad luck. The head of the surgery department died suddenly of an aortic dissection, so I had to take over his duties until they hired a replacement. Better pay, which Cynthia liked at first, but a _helluva_ lot more responsibility for me. I was a nervous wreck, always worried that my patients would die on me because I'd done something wrong, made some rookie mistake..."

Spock could sense the worry and nervous tension building up in McCoy just from recounting that time.

"I often went days without leaving the hospital, but I kept telling her that it was only temporary, that it would get better soon... except it _didn't_ , because the administrators were arguing over whether they should hire from the outside or promote _me_ — without ever bothering to _ask_ me if I wanted the job or not! By the time they told me I could have the position, I didn't want anything to do with it. I actually told the head of HR where they could shove it. But by then it was too late... Cynthia had already found somebody else — somebody who could make her his first priority — and I had to sleep in my office because I had no other place to go."

The sadness emanating from McCoy would have made Spock weep if he had not been in full control of his emotions. As it was, he struggled to find the words to even attempt to console him.

"I am... truly sorry, Leonard," he murmured. "I had no idea..."

"Well, that's not even the worst of it." McCoy stood up and lurched toward his desk, alarming Spock with how unsteady he was on his feet, but he managed to right himself by grabbing the back of the couch. He took the few steps to the desk tentatively, then brought the holograph panel back to the coffee table, where he set it down and turned it on. The image of a girl, swinging gently back and forth as though playing with her dress, appeared in mid-air.

"That's Joanna... my little girl."

Spock looked up at McCoy in shock. "You have... a _daughter?_ "

"Yeah. Damnedest thing, innit?" He collapsed into his chair again. "She's a cute kid, though... takes after her mother, thank God!"

Spock studied the image, still moving in a continuous loop, and compared it to the man sitting across from him.

"There is a definite resemblance to you as well... Her eyes are much like yours."

"Y'think so?" McCoy looked pleased, but there was an undercurrent of pain that marred his pleasure. "See, at first, I didn't think she was mine. I knew Cynthia had been cheating on me, so I just assumed she was... the other guy's kid. God knows I'd hardly been home for months... But Cynthia had her DNA tested, and lo and behold, I was the daddy. 'Course, she doesn't call me 'Daddy' — I'm 'Papa' to her... just some guy who shows up once in a blue moon and sends her weird stuff from all over the galaxy. I'm not really a part of her life... wasn't even there when she was born 'cuz I'd left for Starfleet before the ink had dried on the divorce papers. My residency was over and I couldn't wait to get away from that place..."

Spock was speechless. McCoy's grief was as all-consuming as a black hole, sucking him into its abyss.

"So this other guy is now married to my ex, is 'Daddy' to my baby girl, and is living in the house I'd picked out for my family. Hell, he might even be driving my old car, if it's still working — Cynthia got that in the divorce too. I guess she was just like all the other girls who pretended to be interested in me... they heard 'doctor' and all they could see was dollar signs."

McCoy took a deep breath, faced Spock, and smiled — a smile that wrenched the Vulcan's heart for being so obviously false.

"Well, now you know my sob-story. I pull it out and dust it off every so often to buy sympathy from unsuspecting strangers, but I know that won't work on you. So, take it as a cautionary tale; make sure you don't let the same thing happen to you with Uhura."

"Leonard..." Spock began, groping for the right words, "have you considered... applying for a post near Earth, where you could see your daughter more often?"

"Considered, of course... but that'd be even worse! Going over to my old house to pick her up every other weekend? Knowing I'm basically babysitting for Cynthia and her new husband? Besides, it wouldn't be good for Joanna. As much as I hate to admit it, Frank is a good man and a good father... much better than I could ever hope to be. And I don't want to risk... getting into it with Cynthia again. Towards the end our fights got really nasty, and Joanna doesn't need to see that. No, she's better off without me interfering in her life. Maybe when she gets older and can understand better, I'll make more of an effort to see her, but... for now, being some kind of Santa Claus from outer space is the best I can do for her, I reckon."

McCoy finished off his bourbon while Spock stared at him, overwhelmed.

"It's gettin' late, Spock — you should get home to your woman, and I need to check up on my patients." The doctor sauntered unsteadily to his desk and pulled up some readouts on his monitor.

"I will... accompany you back to your quarters," Spock said at last, standing up to dispose of their food containers in the recycling chute. "You seem somewhat intoxicated, Leonard, and I would not want you to have any... mishap."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not as thunk as you drink I am," McCoy slurred, then laughed when Spock looked at him in alarm. "No, really — I can make it back all right. The walk will do me good. Plus you'll want to use the site-to-site transporter."

"Nyota is not expecting me tonight, so I can walk with you. In fact, I insist."

"Suit yourself."

Although McCoy's reply sounded casual, Spock sensed a definite change in his emotions: gladness and happiness were taking over, dispelling the sadness and pain that had been dominant until now. There was some embarrassment and nervousness intermingled in his feelings as well.

 _"He must be glad of my company,"_ Spock thought, _"but he is too embarrassed — or proud — to ask for it. Or perhaps he is hesitant to keep me away from Nyota... similar to how he has avoided claiming any of his daughter's time for himself..."_

Aloud, Spock only asked, "How are your patients doing?"

"As well as can be expected. One of them got an extra dose of pain-reliever, but that's all right — it'll help her sleep better tonight."

When McCoy finished his review and they left his office, the hallway and other office areas were deserted, so Spock took the opportunity to say something he had been mulling in his mind for a while.

"Leonard, you said your daughter's step-father is a good father... better than you could ever be... but I seriously doubt that. I believe you would be an excellent father."

The increase in McCoy's embarrassment was exponential, hitting Spock like a heat wave, but his pleasure was also palpable.

"You really think so? I mean, I have to watch my language every time I talk to her, and I don't know much about pediatrics, let alone kids... I don't want to be a bad influence on her, y'know?"

"I am sure that, given the opportunity, you would perform admirably."

"I hope you're right," McCoy said as they entered the turbolift, his tone unwontedly sober. "I'm sort of hoping... maybe when she's in her teens or something, that I might be able to spend some time with her... if she wants to, of course."

"I'm sure she would benefit from your attention."

As they walked out of the building into the darkened street — Yorktown's simulated nighttime — McCoy asked, "So... any chance of you and Uhura having, y'know... little quarter-Vulcans?"

"That is highly unlikely," Spock answered. "As you know, the only reason I survived as the first Human-Vulcan hybrid was because my Vulcan DNA had asserted itself as the more dominant in all areas; any aberration in which the Human DNA became more dominant would have meant a serious conflict in my genetic blueprint."

"You'd have ended up with mangled organs," the doctor agreed. "If it were just doubled organs, it wouldn't be so bad, but if you ended up without one altogether... yeah, bad news."

"Precisely. So the risk would be even greater with a higher ratio of Human DNA."

"But wouldn't the Human DNA win out? The kid would be 75% Human, after all."

"Not necessarily. Since the Vulcan DNA is so dominant in me, we would run almost as much risk of having conflicting DNA as my own parents did. My father has told me that they had had several miscarriages where the genetic code was 'mangled,' as you say, to the point where those children could not survive even in utero. It was an especially difficult time for my mother — and not something I wish to subject Nyota to."

McCoy sighed. "Yeah, it's not an easy thing to go through, emotionally or physically. But that's too bad... I think you'd make a good father too, Spock. Especially if you had a more logical, Vulcan-ish kid."

Sensing his sincerity, Spock was surprised and gratified. "Why, thank you, Leonard. I must admit, I have not contemplated having children at any length, but I imagine it is one of the most profoundly rewarding experiences in life."

"It can be," he agreed, but a wave of sadness washed over him — reminding Spock that for all intents and purposes, McCoy had relinquished his parental rights.

"You have done a noble thing," Spock said softly, drawing closer as they walked, "in allowing your daughter's step-father to have the primary role as her father."

McCoy snorted. "Noble! Yeah, right. You know what it really is, Spock? I'm scared. Scared shitless that I'll screw up somehow and leave her scarred for life. What do I know about girls? Absolutely nothing! Hell, I couldn't even figure out when her mom was trying to tell me she was unhappy... or I just didn't _do_ enough to fix things. I don't want to be a disappointment for Joanna too."

Spock grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Leonard, you mustn't tear down your own self-esteem like this! You would be a _good_ father, if for no other reason than that you _want_ to be. I know you want only what is best for your daughter. Even if you do happen to make mistakes, she will know you love her, and that is what will matter most. I can assure you, both of my parents struggled with rearing me — after all, it was the first time anybody had parented a Human-Vulcan child — but I never doubted that they loved me. That is what gave me the strength to get through my difficult childhood. That is what gave me the confidence to take a risk and join Starfleet. It was not easy, but I knew that they would support me in whatever path I chose."

McCoy was swaying on his feet, his eyes watering with tears. The complex tempest of his emotions threatened to overwhelm Spock also, but he stood his ground and thereby grounded McCoy as well.

"Thanks, I... I'll keep that in mind," the Human choked out.

Spock nodded, then placed a hand on McCoy's back to gently guide him.

"Please do... It is not logical to 'sell yourself short,' as they say."

McCoy barked out a laugh — a shaky one, but nevertheless Spock was glad to hear it and feel his emotions become more lighthearted.

"Doctor, I know you must realize this," Spock added as they neared their building, "but it is also illogical to drink alcohol when you are already fighting depression."

"You're damn right it's illogical, but it's the only thing that takes the edge off," McCoy grumbled. "Like fighting fire with fire, poison with poison."

"Have you considered alternate methods of coping with it?"

"Like what?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

"Meditation, exercise, hobbies..."

"Never tried meditation — not sure I could get the hang of it. But I'm going swimming with Jim every other day while we're here. As for hobbies... does insulting you count?"

Spock could not repress the smile that pulled at his mouth. "I believe something more _constructive_ would produce better results."

"Oh, so now you want _constructive_ insults? My God, Spock, you're a demanding taskmaster!"

Spock allowed himself a chuckle, which he felt reflected in McCoy as a surge of pleasure and happiness. When they entered the turbolift of their building, however, he sensed the doctor's mood plummet almost in direct proportion to the floors they rose.

"What is it?" he asked, turning to observe McCoy's clouded face.

"What's what?" was his toneless retort.

"You are feeling depressed again."

Heaving a deep sigh, McCoy let his head fall back against the turbolift wall.

"I just... I hate... going home to an empty apartment. You'd think after all these years it wouldn't bother me so much, but—"

"If it will help, I will accompany you."

"What, into the door?"

"And stay for a while, if you wish."

"I can't ask you to do that!"

"You have not and you need not — I have already offered." The turbolift stopped on their floor so they exited, Spock leading the way toward McCoy's quarters. "Since my Vulcan physiology means that I require less sleep than Humans, I will stay until you have fallen asleep, then return to my own quarters."

"Spock," McCoy drawled, half exasperated, half amused. "You're being awfully nice to me, and I don't know whether to be touched or really, really terrified that you've caught some sort of space virus."

"I assure you I am in good health... but I will accept your gratitude in the form of _constructive_ insults."

The snort of a laugh McCoy expelled seemed to lighten his spirits again.

"I'll have to start thinking of some good ones."

"You may take your time. I am in no hurry."


	7. Chapter 7: Knit the Raveled Sleeve

While McCoy changed into his sleepwear in the bathroom, Spock glanced around the doctor's spartan living quarters. The only personal belongings he could see were the books lined up by the bed. As he perused their titles, McCoy came out dressed in a simple black t-shirt and loose cotton drawstring pants.

"This is quite the collection," Spock commented.

"Bah! Nothing expensive, just some old novels. Help yourself if anything catches your eye."

"Do you have any recommendations?"

"Well, don't read any of the Russian ones when you're feeling down. And you probably won't like _Alice in Wonderland_."

"On the contrary, Leonard, I've read both it and _Through the Looking Glass_ and found them to be a fascinating window into the Human psyche."

"Oh? How so?"

"The adaptability of Alice to the bizarre creatures and occurrences which she encounters speaks to the resilience of Humans — especially at a young age — and, in general, the stories are considered to reflect the enigmatic memory processing of the brain through the dream state. Furthermore, Carroll was a traditional mathematician of his time, and he used the stories to satirize some of the new, more complex, and seemingly contradictory theories being introduced in that era."

"Y'know, Spock," McCoy drawled, stifling a yawn, "I think you're actually helping; I'm falling asleep already."

"Then I shall remain quiet so you may sleep... 'perchance to dream.'"

"'Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,'" McCoy mumbled as he lay down on his bed. "Just make yourself comfortable. If you really want to stay, that is. You don't have to, you know — it's not like I'm so drunk that I'm gonna fall down and hurt myself."

"I suppose that is unlikely," Spock replied in a lowered voice, perching on the edge of the bed, "but I offered to stay to provide companionship, not a security detail."

"So if I _do_ fall on my ass, you'll only be here for moral support?"

Spock's lips twitched. "I will encourage you to get up on your own, Doctor."

"Well then, here's my first constructive insult: that's about as useful as a screen door on a starship."

Despite the bluntness of his words, Spock could sense that McCoy was enjoying the verbal repartee. The steady emissions of _HAPPY-HAPPY-GLAD-CONTENT-SLEEPY_ were tinged with delight and good humor.

"It would be illogical to install such a device on a starship," Spock replied blandly.

"It's a joke, dammit — don't you get it?" McCoy responded with no heat behind the accusation. He was bending down to grab the blanket, which was just out of reach, so Spock pulled it up for him. Their hands touched briefly, almost electrifying the Vulcan and making him gasp aloud.

"What? What's the matter?" McCoy demanded, alert now.

"I... I cannot explain it... It felt as though... electricity passed between us."

"Oh!" The doctor was silent for a moment. "Must be static electricity. It tends to build up in synthetic fibers, especially when the air is dry."

"I know what static electricity feels like," Spock objected. "This felt... like nothing I'd ever felt before."

"You want me to take a look at it?" McCoy asked, already getting out of bed and opening a cupboard. "I've got a kit right here."

"No, I do not think that will be necessary."

"Well, lemme look, just to make sure."

The light and magnifying lens did not show anything unusual on Spock's hand, and neither did the tricorder. However, Spock noted that McCoy had avoided touching his skin directly.

"Maybe it was a fluke... a freak buildup of static charge," McCoy suggested, but his feelings were indicating _WORRY-WORRY-HIDE-AVOID_. Spock was forced to conclude that the doctor had a better idea of what had caused the phenomenon but was, for whatever reason, reluctant to voice it.

"As there seems to be no permanent damage," Spock said, relieved that his own concern was not being transmitted to McCoy, "I see no reason to pursue the matter."

"All right, but if it happens again, I want you to let me know right away," McCoy insisted as he packed away his kit. At least his emotions had calmed down, but he was no longer sleepy.

"I'm sorry, Leonard — I did not mean to wake you."

"Oh, Spock, don't apologize! It wasn't your fault you got zapped."

Curiously, Spock sensed guilt radiating from McCoy.

"It was not a strong charge, simply... startling. Perhaps if you lie down you will be able to relax again."

"Yeah, maybe." McCoy settled back onto the bed, trying to hide his skepticism — not knowing that it was clearly perceptible to Spock. "Hey, maybe if you read me a bedtime story..." he joked.

"Which one would you prefer?" Spock asked, keeping his expression neutral.

"Oh, God, Spock! I was just kidding."

"Even so, if it will help you sleep..." Spock picked up one of the books, then saw it was _The Brothers Karamazov_ and put it back. "Perhaps an old Earth tale... you may be familiar with it. My mother used to read it to me when I was a child."

"Oh? Which one?"

" _Three Little Pigs_."

McCoy burst out laughing, then continued to laugh until tears were leaking out of his eyes.

"I fail to see what is so amusing," Spock said in confusion, which prompted McCoy to get a grip on himself.

"Sorry, it's just... the thought of your poor Human mother, reading _Three Little Pigs_ to you when you were only a pipsqueak but no doubt a _logical_ Vulcan kid... What in heaven's name did you think of it?"

"It was an entertaining moral story, cautioning one to be wise in planning for the future and to not be satisfied with work that is less than one's best. It also taught that with the proper preparation, one could overcome the various obstacles in one's life."

"You got all that out of _Three Little Pigs_? Well, all right, I suppose you could. But it's a _children's_ story, Spock — you're supposed to _enjoy_ it, not analyze it to death!"

"I did appreciate the fact that my mother took the time to teach me such stories from her own culture. It also served to familiarize me with some of Earth's fauna and their metaphysical symbolism."

McCoy chuckled, sending out waves of amusement and happiness that washed over Spock.

"All right, then — do you need to read it off a PADD or do you remember it well enough without?"

"I believe I have it memorized," Spock stated, then began reciting the tale. He tried to infuse the familiar lines with the same animation as his mother had for him, although it was difficult since McCoy's silent merriment was vibrating through the room. "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house _in!_ "

Before Spock could finish the tale, McCoy was shaking from the effort of reigning in his laughter.

"It does not seem to be having the desired effect of lulling you to sleep," Spock put in.

"No, no... I'm sorry, it's just..." McCoy finally succumbed to the hilarity, doubling up on his side, and had to wipe his tears with a corner of the blanket. "I appreciate it, I really do! But—" He broke off to laugh so hard that he snorted.

"Perhaps you are more inebriated than I had thought," Spock remarked dryly.

"Yeah, that's it! In fact... I might be hallucinating this whole thing!" After taking in several deep breaths, McCoy was able to calm himself a little. "It can't be true, can it? You, Spock, reading me a _bedtime story?_ "

"I was reciting, not reading — a minor point — but I do not see why it would be beyond the realm of possibility."

"Okay, _reciting_ , whatever! At any rate, your secret's safe. Nobody would believe me, anyway!"

"You need not keep it a secret," Spock began, then paused as he reconsidered.

"Oh, yes, I do! You couldn't command half as much respect if the crew knew you have _Three Little Pigs_ memorized!"

"Well, perhaps... you may be correct."

"I _know_ I am," McCoy declared, then stretched out to lie flat on his bed again. "Okay, I'm wide awake now. What other Earth stories do you know?"

Spock listed a few, pointing out the lessons to be learned from them or, as in the case of _The Boy Who Cried 'Wolf,'_ the illogical actions taken by the protagonists, which he had struggled to understand as a boy.

"They became more meaningful when I began living among Humans," he explained. "In fact, that was when I most appreciated my mother having taught them to me."

"She must have been an amazing woman," McCoy mused. "Living on Vulcan, surrounded by Vulcans... I don't know how she kept from going insane."

Spock was quiet for a moment before he said, "I do regret... not expressing to her... how much I loved and appreciated her. In Vulcan culture, any expression of emotion is considered... inferior, and so I did not even acknowledge... how much she meant to me."

McCoy's smile was sad but genuine. "I'm sure she knew, Spock. She was your mother, after all."

"I hope she did. She was... exceptionally perceptive."

"See? There you go. She knew. She probably understood why you were trying so hard to fit in too. And she lived to see you become an officer with Starfleet. She must've been so proud!"

"She... She was. She told me... she was."

Having been in such close proximity to McCoy and inundated by his emotions for so long, Spock found his own feelings bubbling to the surface. His vision grew blurry as his nose stung.

"Aw, dammit, Spock! I didn't mean to make you cry," McCoy protested, sitting up to stare at him awkwardly.

Spock sniffed hard, then managed a small laugh. "I realize that... but it is a... _good_ sort of emotion. I miss her... terribly... but it is good to remember her."

"Yeah... They're never really gone as long as we remember them."

Spock allowed himself to _feel_ the sentiment rising within himself while being suffused with McCoy's feelings of _GUILTY-SORRY-HEAL-COMFORT-CONCERN-HEAL_. Then he was struck by a sudden epiphany.

 _He reminds me of her._

McCoy's depth and strength of feeling, his dogged determination to protect his fellow crew members, his unending passion for making others whole and happy again — though different in quality, the essence of his personality was remarkably similar to Spock's mother, who had cared for her son jealously, tirelessly, and with all-consuming dedication. She had only ever wanted him to be happy and healthy; so did McCoy. It was humbling and — in that moment of emotional vulnerability — Spock had to admit, comforting.

"I must apologize, Leonard," Spock slowly said, "for being... very counterproductive to your rest."

"Oh, dammit all! It's nothing that a good cup of coffee can't fix. I don't have any surgeries tomorrow — at least not scheduled, thank God."

"I am glad for that. I would blame the alcohol, but as you know, it does not affect my Vulcan physiology."

"It's all right, Spock... you're allowed to miss her. You're half Human, after all... and even Vulcans must grieve, in their own way."

Spock nodded and sniffed again, which sent McCoy off the other side of the bed to retrieve a box of tissues. Accepting it gratefully, Spock blew his nose and dried his eyes.

"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit," McCoy said with some perplexity. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Spock, and that's a fact. First you're reciting children's stories and now you're actually showing _emotion?_ What's next — playing a banjo at a hoedown?"

"What, exactly, is a 'hoedown'?" Spock asked, not bothering to hide the smile that was creeping into his face.

"A square-dancin' party. Next time we go to Earth, I'll have to take you to one."

"It sounds... fascinating. But as for my... very _Human_ conduct tonight... I can only surmise that you have been influencing me with your sentimentality."

"Oh, so now I'm a bad influence on you?" McCoy huffed, quirking one eyebrow.

"I never said it was a _negative_ thing, Leonard."

This caught McCoy completely off guard and unable to formulate a reply.

"You should lie down... try to get some sleep," Spock urged. "I have interfered with your rest long enough."

"All right," McCoy conceded as he lay back down yet again. "But Spock... seriously, are you feeling all right?"

"I am feeling..." Spock began, then stopped as he realized his own word choice. He let the smile form on his lips before restating, "I feel _fine_ , Leonard."

"You sure you're not coming down with Draconian measles or anything?"

"I am sure."

"'Course, not much I could do for you even if you were," McCoy said with a sigh. "Some things you just have to let run their course... It's getting late, Spock. If you need to turn in—"

"There is still enough time for me to get an adequate amount of sleep," he quietly assured him. "Just rest now. I will remain silent, in meditation, so as to not disturb you any further."

"You'll have to show me how to do that sometime," McCoy mumbled, his eyes already closed.

"I would be happy to," Spock whispered, pulling the blanket up over McCoy's chest without touching him. He watched for a few minutes as the Human's breathing slowed and his emotions — revolving around _CONTENT-HAPPY-CONTENT-SLEEP_ — grew quieter. Then, for what he gauged to be half an hour, Spock turned his attention inward and meditated to quiet his own thoughts. Lacking a specific light source to focus on, he imagined one with his mind's eye, and somehow it reminded him of his mother as well: warm, inviting, and brilliant.

When he finally opened his physical eyes, he felt mentally refreshed. He wondered if the waves of peaceful feelings emanating from McCoy might have had something to do with the light within having been colored with affection and repose. He also wondered, as he saw how close his hand had landed to McCoy's (though still separated by the blanket), what that near-electrical shock had been and why the doctor had seemed hesitant to voice his theory on it. Deciding that solving the riddle could wait, Spock silently left the room.


	8. Chapter 8: No Other Answer

Spock told the computer to turn on the lights as soon as he entered his door. Moving past the geometric screen wall, he was startled to find Uhura stirring on his bed.

"Nyota... I'm sorry, I did not expect you here."

"Obviously." Though her tone was flat, he could sense her disgruntlement.

"Computer, reduce light to thirty percent," he ordered, noticing when she sat up that the flesh around her eyes was puffy as though she had been crying. He sat down beside her immediately, asking, "What is the matter?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" she replied, pulling her knees up to her chest in a defensive gesture. "What's going on, Spock? Where have you been all this time?"

"I have been with Dr. McCoy, as I had informed you. You did receive my message, did you not?"

"I did. But it's past midnight, Spock! It's almost one o'clock. What could you possibly have to talk about that would take so long?"

"I am not at liberty to say... Some of the subject matter was spoken in confidence."

"Oh, is that right." Uhura's glare was cold and glinting even in the dimmed light. "Were you talking about me behind my back? Asking him for advice on how to handle _illogical_ Human females?"

Spock's jaw fell slack in astonishment. "No, Nyota — we were not talking about you at all."

He had hoped to allay her fears by this statement but was perplexed when it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Of course not! Because I'm not on your list of priorities at all, am I? I'm not even in your scanning range! You never think of _us_ , you hardly ever think of _me_ , and now — just because he saved your life once — all of a sudden you're best friends and you want to spend every waking minute with him!"

Spock was stunned by this onslaught, and before he could counter any of her accusations, Uhura started to cry. For the second time, if he had read the signs correctly.

"Nyota... what has happened? Why would you even think such things?" he asked, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. She shook it off, but not before he caught a glimpse of the _PAIN-HURT-SAD-ANGRY-HURT-BROKEN-PAIN_ that was pulsing through her.

"What has happened?" she echoed, mocking and bitter. "What has happened to _you?_ I went out with some friends tonight — thinking it would be good to get out, have some fun, get out of my head — and Amelia told me she saw you giving Dr. McCoy a pendant. In the middle of the walkway. In _broad daylight_." Uhura's glower could have stopped an enraged Mugato in its tracks. "She said you actually put it on for him. What is _going on_ with you two?"

"I... I merely gave him a token of my appreciation and respect," Spock said, still shocked that she would be upset by something so trivial. "A small memento for saving my life... Surely you can understand that. As for the time I spent with him tonight, it was a necessary discussion regarding the crew member who has been refusing to meet with the counselor—"

"That's McCoy, too, isn't it?" Uhura interrupted. "The only other person is the captain himself, and if you were talking about him, it wouldn't have taken so long. But even if you're worried about the doctor not taking his own medicine, why should _you_ have to play doctor to _him?_ If that's really what this is all about!"

"I fail to comprehend what else you could think it is," Spock replied, not hiding his confusion. "Since you have deduced as much, _yes_ , it is Leonard himself who has not seen the counselor, and yes, I have acquired his promise to set an appointment. I do not pretend to have the necessary skills with which to treat his emotional needs; however, as his friend, I can at least listen to his concerns and attempt to provide some moral support."

"Mmm... his ' _friend._ '" Uhura pronounced the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Is that all you are? _Really?_ "

Spock furrowed his brow in consternation. "What else are you implying?"

"What do you _think_ I'm implying!" She stood up, clenching both hands into fists. "I've had to listen to the two of you bicker for the last _five years_ , Spock — McCoy always trying to get an emotional response from you and you doing your best to thwart him — but don't tell me you haven't been enjoying it because _I know better_. You _like_ having someone who challenges you, almost as much as you like winning... maybe even _more_. Then you get thrown into a bad situation together, and when you get back from it, suddenly you're giving him _jewelry_ and spending all your free time with him even when it's _past midnight_..." Uhura broke off to catch her breath, then took another to steady herself and demanded, "Where were you and what were you _doing_ tonight?"

Spock licked his lips, which had gone dry, before answering. "I met him in his office, at the hospital, where we shared a meal. Afterwards I pointed out that he had not followed protocol regarding the treatment of emotional trauma, and he agreed to visit his assigned counselor."

"Oh, yes," Uhura broke in, "the protocol for emotional trauma — from which you are _conveniently_ exempt. Maybe if Starfleet knew how _Human_ you actually are, they would require you to see a counselor too."

"I do not see how that would be beneficial, since there are no Vulcan counselors in Starfleet," Spock countered. "And it would be an inefficient use of a Human counselor's valuable time, especially considering how many of our crew require treatment now."

Uhura harrumphed as she paced the room. "So, you got McCoy to agree to see his counselor. Why didn't you come home then?"

Spock was indignant that she was requiring an account of how he had spent his time; however, he realized that this was not the right moment to mention it.

"He had also agreed to tell me... about his past," he explained, trying to be vague. "About his experiences on Earth. I cannot elaborate without revealing what was told to me in confidence."

Uhura rolled her eyes and continued pacing. "So all this time, he was telling you his life story?"

Truthfully, Spock had to answer, "Not the entire duration. I walked with him to his quarters since he was slightly intoxicated. And then we discussed... literature."

" _Literature?_ " Uhura said, her tone indicating utter disbelief.

"Yes. Terran literature," Spock returned adamantly. "He has quite a collection of books."

Even though Spock considered it something of a stretch to call _Three Little Pigs_ literature, he could at least be entirely truthful about McCoy's book collection. After listening to Uhura's insinuations, he realized that he could never reveal to her the exact nature of their literary discussion — or the circumstances surrounding it.

"And you just... _talked_... about _literature_... until one in the morning?"

"As well as my mother," he added, "since she was the one who had introduced me to Terran literature."

Something in Spock's voice caused Uhura to halt and study him.

"You talked with him about your _mother?_ " she asked, but the sarcasm was gone from her tone.

"Yes. He had also told me about... _his_ family," Spock said, careful not to divulge more than necessary.

"You haven't talked to _me_ about your mother — not since she died," Uhura stated. "Or at least, not unless I've forced you to."

"I... was not aware..." Spock swallowed and started over. "It is still difficult for me, Nyota. Losing her like that... I have yet to come to terms with it."

"I _know_." Uhura sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in close to him so he could not help but meet her gaze. "And I've wanted to _help_ you with it, help you work _through_ it, but you won't let me _in_."

"That... was not my intention," he protested. "I simply... need more time to process it. I did not mean to shut you out, _T'hy'la_."

"And yet... you were able to talk to _McCoy_ about her?"

"He... He understands loss and pain well. He had shared his own with me, so I thought it was reciprocal, in a way, that I share mine with him."

"Why, Spock?" Uhura stood again in agitation and frustration. "Why _him_ and not _me?_ "

Spock weighed the variables in his mind. He knew if he so much as hinted that the doctor was more emotionally stable than Uhura was acting at the moment, it would only insult her and make matters worse. He could not in good conscience claim that McCoy was the more logical choice, since the woman he had dated for over six years would indubitably have preference for something of this nature. The only thing that remained was... the subjective truth.

"I felt... _safe_... to share it with him," Spock at last admitted. "He has been... surprisingly insightful... and _kind_. He reminded me that my mother would have understood my efforts to be accepted in Vulcan culture... that she would have known how much she meant to me, even though I could not express it adequately. Things I should have remembered... but had lost sight of in my grief."

"Oh, Spock... I could have told you that," Uhura murmured.

Spock nodded his agreement. "I know... but I had forgotten that I even needed to be reminded. And... in a strange way... in spite of their many differences... Leonard reminds me of her."

Uhura drew in a sharp breath, then turned away and crossed her arms as though struggling against tears. Spock could sense the rising tempest of emotions in her, even without being in physical contact, and wondered what he had done or said wrong this time. When she faced him again, her eyes were glistening.

"Spock... be honest with me — and with yourself, for a change — and tell me: are you in love with him?"

"I... _what?_ "

Spock was too astounded to say anything else; however, Uhura continued to stand there, waiting for his answer, tears spilling down her cheeks. He tried to gather his chaotic thoughts to reply.

"I... I fail to understand... why you would even consider..."

The withering look she gave him made him stop.

"You've been thinking about him all the time, worried about him, spending _insane_ amounts of time with him, and you've even given him a _gift_ for simply doing his job! What else _am_ I supposed to think? What would _you_ think if _I_ went around spending my time with another man, then talked about him incessantly when we're together? If I gave him _jewelry_ for rescuing me in the line of duty?"

"I would... base my judgments on what you tell me, of course. If you tell me that your relationship is strictly platonic, then I would not doubt you, Nyota."

Uhura's face crumpled as she began to cry yet again. Spock stood to embrace her but was blocked by her upheld arms.

"You don't get it, Spock! You _ought_ to doubt me if you see all the _symptoms!_ "

"Nyota... _T'hy'la_ ," Spock said gently, using the Vulcan term of endearment in hopes of calming her. "You have never been dishonest with me. Why should I doubt you? You are not thinking logically—"

"Of _course_ I'm not thinking logically!" she snapped. "I'm _Human_ , Spock. I am _not_ a logical being! And I am _not_ as strong... as you think I am." She sobbed for a moment, unable to speak, but when he drew near she shook her head. "Yes, I'm getting help... from the counselor, but that doesn't mean... I don't need you! I _do_. I need you... to be here for me... to help me _through_ this... but all you can think about... is McCoy..."

"I am sorry, Nyota," Spock said, regret churning in his stomach. "I should have set aside more time to be with you. I did not mean to neglect you — you must know this. If only you had said something sooner, I would have done everything in my power to avoid causing you such pain."

She suddenly straightened her shoulders and forced herself to be calm with a strength of self-discipline that would have impressed any Vulcan Kolinahr master.

"Don't you see, Spock? You would have had to _try_ to avoid it. Yes, I do know that you never _meant_ to hurt me... but you couldn't help yourself. You've become _obsessed_ with the doctor... in a way that I don't think you ever were with me, even when we first started seeing each other. You're drawn to him; I think you always have been. And it's obvious that he's been drawn to you, right from the start. Your game of constant needling and one-upmanship... you couldn't leave each other alone. Maybe it's just the thrill of competition, but I've always wondered... worried... if it weren't something more."

Spock opened his mouth to deny it, then discovered that he could not. After being presented with her arguments, he could not be so sure of his position anymore. Observing his hesitation, Uhura sighed.

"I'm sorry, Spock. I had promised myself that I wouldn't act like a... jealous harpy, screaming at you and accusing you about the 'other woman' — or 'other man' — but I'm afraid that's exactly what I've done. And you don't deserve that." She sniffed, which made his heart ache. "I need to pull myself back together again... and although it would be easier to have you with me, to rely on you, I need to do this on my own. To prove to myself that I can do this. And... I think... you need to figure out what your feelings for Dr. McCoy are."

Spock was still somewhat shell-shocked, but he nodded in acquiescence.

"If that is what you wish... I will respect it. But you will always have my support, Nyota. Please do not forget that."

"I know." Uhura sniffed again as the tears welled in her eyes. "You have been... so good to me..."

As she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, Spock could feel all her sorrow, loneliness, and pain. It felt a thousand times worse to know that he had caused it — and could do nothing to alleviate it.


	9. Chapter 9: Self-Diagnostic

Spock could not fall asleep easily after that. He had to force himself, with all of the willpower and concentration he'd been taught on Vulcan, to shut down his racing thoughts so he could sleep, and even then it was not restful. In the morning he muddled through his first hour of work, thankful that much of it was routine, then went to the rooftop of the building on his medically required break. The temporary offices that Starfleet had assigned to the Enterprise crew were in a high-rise near the intersection with another inhabited strip, so from his vantage point Spock had the dizzying view of a park with a pond directly in _front_ of him rather than below. Still, he considered it a good place to relax and gather his thoughts.

He could not decide if what troubled him most about Uhura's confrontation was the fact that he had been insensitive to her needs or her accusation that he might be in love with Dr. McCoy. For the former, he had already apologized but still felt deeply remorseful — he recalled how he had ignored the feelings of unease he had sensed in her, and he blamed himself for not bringing it up and at least getting her to explain why she had felt that way. He accused himself of not caring enough, of not paying enough attention to the subtle clues he had found, and thereby hurting Uhura deeply. As for the latter, he had not even considered such a possibility. Vulcan logic dictated that mating was for procreation, precluding any same-gender couples (even though they now had the technology to create offspring with the DNA from any pairing within their species) except for rare cases, such as in remote mining colonies where the gender distribution was unequal; due to the requirements of the _pon farr_ , same-gender couplings in those situations were considered expedient, necessary, and even logical. Spock realized the irony that if he chose a Human mate, he would be almost incapable of procreation, anyway, so the logical demands that he choose a mate of the opposite gender did not apply to him.

Which left him with the obvious question: _Am I in love with McCoy?_

It was difficult for him to pinpoint love as an emotion, even when he was in physical contact with someone. With his mother, it had been expressed in his mind as _CARE_ or _WORRY_ or _PRIDE_. As a child he had concluded that the more she felt for him or about him, the more she loved him. It was the culmination and directionality of emotions that seemed to define this elusive phenomenon called love. Within himself, it was even more difficult to identify, but the duration of time spent dwelling on thoughts of McCoy — or with McCoy himself — seemed a logical place to start his analysis.

 _"Is what Nyota said true? Have I been obsessed with him?"_

Spock had to admit that he might have been. While he had originally justified his attentions as being a natural result of their shared experience, he had been in other dire situations with other members of the crew but had not remained focused on them once the incident had been resolved. Jim had also saved his life, risking his own career, and yet Spock had filed his accurate and contradictory report, which had led to Jim's (thankfully only temporary) demotion.

 _"I was younger then and not aware of the full implications, for Humans, of saving another's life_ , he considered. _However, if it had been Jim who had kept me alive on Altamid — although it is doubtful he would have had the skills to do so — would I have felt compelled to give him a gift? Leonard had made several pointed remarks about Nyota's pendant, forming the idea in my mind that he places a great deal of significance on items of jewelry. He often wears his Starfleet Academy class ring, too, so I knew he would be receptive of such a gift. He had called me an ingrate, and I sincerely wished to disabuse him of that misconception. But if Jim had done the same and said the same things, would I have given him a gift as well? He had accused me of worse after I had filed my report, and yet... I did not even think of giving him a token of my regret or gratitude..._

 _"Was my compulsion to give Leonard a gift... an_ emotional _response?"_ Spock wondered with some apprehension. _"I told him, truthfully, that I had wanted to do so... What else have I been doing since the Altamid Incident that might have been based on sentiment rather than logic?"_

He began counting them off in his head:

 _1\. I wanted to give him the gift, when I had felt no such compulsion toward Jim after the volcano incident.  
2\. I was thinking about Leonard even when I was with Nyota, which upset her and made her jealous.  
3\. I went to see his surgery. While that might have been due to scientific curiosity, I had never heard of the Oyenusi Syndrome before then and have had no particular interest in other illnesses of its sort, so my only motivation was probably the fact that Dr. McCoy was the one performing the surgery.  
4\. I went to his office upon his invitation, ostensibly to receive the PADD with the courses on Human psychology he had recommended, but... I was sincerely delighted to see where he is now working. It could be labeled idle curiosity or happiness in a crewmate's success... but it could also be the evidence of a more deep-seated, intimate interest... attraction.  
5\. I stayed there, talking with him, until Nyota called in concern. Had she not called, I would probably have stayed there much longer.  
6\. Then I invited him to dinner with Nyota and me, not realizing that it would be awkward and difficult for him in that type of situation. But my first thought was to ensure that he had companions for the meal... not, as Nyota would point out, my relationship with her, which I ought to have been strengthening.  
7\. Later that night, I was thinking of him again... perhaps "obsessing," as Nyota would say, about his not receiving help from a counselor. This could have been merely out of concern for a crewmate... except I could have notified him via a simple message.  
8\. Then yesterday I chose to spend the entire evening with him, despite sensing worry and jealousy in Nyota. I should have made her my priority, but I dismissed my concerns. Did I do that deliberately? Did I turn a blind eye to her emotional needs and choose to spend my time with Leonard because... it was easy? Because it was more comfortable? Because I am more _attracted _to Leonard than I am to Nyota?_

Spock could not come up with a quick answer to that question, so he sighed and continued composing his list.

 _9\. I wanted to take him a meal that he would enjoy, so I chose something from his home district on Earth. That would seem to be only logical and polite. However, it could also be construed as an attempt to gain his favor.  
10\. I acquired his promise to see his counselor. This was from a true concern for his wellbeing, but it might also be considered an obsessive interest in him as an individual.  
11\. Nyota asked why I did not leave him and come home at that point, but he had offered to tell me the true reason for his depression — as a friend, I could not have left him then in good conscience. However, since my curiosity might be considered excessive interest in him as well, this should be counted also.  
12\. Perhaps this is not of my doing, but I can sense his feelings more powerfully than any other Human I have ever met. Did we forge some kind of bond during our time together on Altamid? Or did I become attuned to his emotions due to some subconscious attraction to him? Or are his emotions simply more powerful than most?  
13\. I accompanied him back to his quarters out of concern for his intoxicated state. It may not have been necessary, but I _wanted _to do so... for his safety and my own peace of mind. Was it above and beyond the care of a platonic friend? Perhaps not, since I can easily envision Jim doing the same for him in a similar situation. However, my strong desire to stay with him may be an indication of an inherent attraction.  
14\. Staying in his quarters with him until he fell asleep... was definitely beyond the purview of a friend. Even Jim would probably not do so, although he might have ensured that Leonard was safely settled in bed, depending on the degree of his inebriation.  
15\. Reciting an ancient Terran children's story is no doubt beyond the normal functions of a friend as well. Though it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time, I may have been deluding myself. __It appears to be yet another proof of my attraction to Leonard._ _  
16\. I shared some of my innermost thoughts about my mother with him... and it felt natural to do so. His personality resemblance to Mother and the fact that he had shared his own pain with me made it easy to trust him, even with such a difficult topic. But Nyota is correct in that I had not shared my thoughts with her on the same matter. Did I not trust her enough? Was I trying to protect her? But she had suffered her trauma quite recently — I could have spoken with her at any time during the previous five years, yet I had failed to do so. Why, then, did I feel no hesitation to speak with Leonard? Was it because of his innate compassion and warmth, or my attraction to him? Unclear.  
Additional Note: The cause of that electric-like shock is still unknown. _

Thus he concluded his list of possible proofs that he was attracted to McCoy. Analyzing it, Spock realized that his own definition of "attraction" was vague, which had caused some questions to be left unanswered.

 _"What_ is _attraction, anyway? Although it seems many Humans determine attraction based on physical traits, I have always considered intellectual and moral compatibility to be more important criteria. Leonard is intelligent, obviously, having completed a regular medical course as well as the Starfleet Medical Academy; he can recall and treat a number of dissimilar humanoid species without referring to the computer; and he has also displayed a remarkable aptitude for piloting — in an alien craft with unfamiliar markings, no less. While he does not go about flaunting it, he is quite possibly one of the most intelligent Humans I have ever met._

 _"As for moral character, his profession speaks volumes. With his large physical build, he could have become an athlete or soldier or even a command officer with Starfleet, but instead he has chosen to be a healer_ — _to_ save _lives rather than harming them. I had always recognized his passion and dedication to his vocation, but after sensing his emotions while caring for me, I know now that he is a healer by his very nature. And in spite of his occasional emotional outbursts, when Jim was being particularly illogical and insubordinate, Leonard tried to stop him and make him see reason — perhaps to protect both his friend and the crew, as is his duty. He may protest my un-emotional methodology at times, but he is still a man of science and reason. His level-headedness and resourcefulness in emergency situations are precisely what allowed him to save my life._

 _"Then is it gratitude that has drawn me to him? But if so, I should have become 'obsessed' with Jim as well, but that does not seem to have occurred. At least Nyota has not accused me of such... and I cannot remember spending as much time with Jim outside of work or thinking about him as extensively as I have with and about Leonard. So what else might be attracting me to Leonard? Had I sensed, long before I had realized it, that his nurturing spirit was reminiscent of Mother's? In Human psychology, it is a respected belief that some are attracted to those who display similar traits as their own family members; was that, perhaps, making me gravitate toward him — even without realizing it?_

 _"The only other criterion left is the physical. Leonard is healthy and physically fit, and I would judge him to be handsome for a Human male. Some Terran females seem to appreciate height, and he is certainly of a good height, with broad shoulders denoting his strength — indeed he was strong enough to help carry my weight when I was injured. Yet despite his strength, he was very gentle in handling me, trying his best not to make my injury any worse. He even insisted on my sleeping on his body to keep my core temperature from falling... perhaps also protecting me from the uncomfortable hardness of the floor. He is considerate and kind... and passionate about protecting his friends — all very admirable traits."_

Remembering how McCoy had held him that night, with the doctor's strong feelings of _PROTECT-PROTECT-PROTECT_ saturating him, Spock felt a glow of warmth. The tone of McCoy's emotions had been as hot as the Vulcan sun, inexorably pouring life and energy into all who drew near. His hands had seemed to radiate healing into Spock's weary frame. This was the most physically close Spock had been to another male in all of his life, and far from being awkward or uncomfortable, he had felt relaxed and... _safe_. Though his mind had known that the abandoned building offered scant protection against innumerable dangers, McCoy's very presence and determination to protect him had lulled Spock into a restful, peaceful sleep.

 _"Perhaps that is the primary reason I was — and probably still am — drawn to him,"_ Spock pondered. _"His strength of character... his compassion... his_ love _, in a sense, for his patients. All very, very admirable traits."_

The final question in Spock's mind, then, was: _Do I desire to have an intimate, physical relationship with him?_

 _"I find him intellectually compatible... his character is noble and admirable beyond a doubt,"_ Spock answered himself. _"And although I had not considered a physical relationship with another male heretofore, there is no reason for me to avoid it. He is as physically attractive as I could possibly wish, even though that is not a priority for me. It seems there is no obstruction to forming such a relationship — at least on my part."_

Spock thought back to how he and Uhura had grown intimate. After she had finished taking all of the advanced Vulcan language courses he offered, she had approached him with an invitation to dinner, for which she had meticulously cooked traditional Vulcan dishes. Their first physical contact was when she had slipped her hand into his as they walked an easy hiking trail — her nervousness and excitement transmitting through his skin. Then one night when he had walked her back to her dormitory, she told him to wait, then stood on her tiptoes to place a tender kiss on his cheek.

Spock imagined walking that same hiking trail with McCoy while holding his hand, then allowed himself to feel his own response. He was a little nervous, embarrassed, and excited, but since he already knew the warmth and comfort McCoy usually exuded, he thought it would be a pleasant experience overall. Then he envisioned being kissed by the doctor — a simple, chaste kiss on his cheek with a half-teasing smile on McCoy's lips as he drew near — and a surge of heat consumed his body. His male organ grew half-erect in just the space of that moment, startling him and making him lean closer against the wall to hide the bulge in his uniform.

 _"Well,"_ he thought, breathless and shocked at the revelation, _"it seems Nyota was correct in her assessment: I_ am _attracted to Leonard!"_

He tried to focus on the trees in the park in front of his eyes, hoping that would calm his raging hormones, but all he could think was, _"If being kissed by him is so desirable, what about a mutual kiss?"_

His erection grew to its full extent as he considered opening his mouth to receive McCoy's probing tongue, tasting him and feeling all of his emotions first-hand — they might sear him with their intensity, but Spock thought he could bear anything for the pleasure of basking in the Human's full attention. McCoy would undoubtedly want to hold him, wrapping him in those strong arms and pulling him close; Spock knew he would gladly stay there forever, content and happy beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Without realizing it, he touched his lips with a finger, imagining the phantom heat of McCoy's passionate kiss.

"Hey, Spock!" came a familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see Jim jogging up. "You all right? You're usually back at your desk by 1100, but it's already 1130."


	10. Chapter 10: An Ear to Bend

Spock began to turn toward Jim but remembered in the nick of time that he had an embarrassing situation in the front of his uniform. Gripping the top of the wall with both hands, he drew in a deep breath to calm himself before responding.

"I—I'm sorry, Captain, I did not realize it was... so long past my work hours—"

"No, don't sweat it! You're still on restricted duty, anyway, so if you need to take some time off, just say so." Jim approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I only wanted to make sure you're okay since it's not like you to be gone so long. Hey, is it my imagination or is your skin turning green?"

The remark only served to make Spock's complexion turn greener.

"I, ah... possibly..."

"Oh, God! It's getting worse. I'll tell Bones to get his ass here right away, transporter phobia be damned—"

"No! No, Jim, please! It's not—it's not serious!" Spock protested, sputtering when Jim pulled out his communicator.

"Spock, it's spreading!"

"Please! It's nothing serious. It's just... I am simply... _embarrassed_."

 _"What?"_

"I am embarrassed that I have lost track of time to such a degree," Spock explained, still flushed but better able to communicate now that he had Jim's attention. "The green tint of my skin is from my green blood. I believe the term is... 'blushing.'"

"Oh! _Right_ , green blood, green blush—You're _blushing?_ "

Spock opened his mouth to reply, then could not think of anything to say. Jim, however, did not seem to notice his discomfiture.

"Oh my God, even the tips of your ears are green! That's... pretty damn adorable, actually." He grinned and patted his first officer's shoulder. "But seriously, don't worry about work! Not like you haven't racked up a month's worth of paid leave, right? And all the reports are coming in normal — 'Status: On Schedule' for every last one — so it's not like there's anything you need to do. I was getting bored out of my mind, to tell you the truth, and came looking for you just to get out of the damn office. But are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Spock considered for a moment and answered, "Actually, no. And since it has already affected my performance, I must report the reason to you as my commanding officer."

"Oh? What's going on? And what's up with the blushing — I thought you didn't feel emotions?"

"A... momentary lapse," Spock confessed, focusing every last ounce of his willpower to bring his body under control. His erection, at least, seemed to be deflating. "I had... allowed myself to experience my emotions... for the benefit of studying them."

"Really," Jim said, thoroughly intrigued. "You can turn them on and off like that?"

"It is more a matter of... not restricting them. It requires effort to keep them under control constantly; to cease that effort is a matter of relative ease."

"I... hadn't thought about it like that. So, what's all this soul-searching about?"

Spock realized he would have to be careful as to how much he divulged to Jim, who — as his comment had indicated — was very perceptive.

"Lieutenant Uhura and I have... decided to part ways... at least in our personal lives."

"Oh, Spock... I'm so sorry to hear that. I mean... you two looked _happy_ at the party the other day!"

"She informed me of her decision this morning," Spock told him. "Apparently, I had not been as supportive of her as I should have been, considering the trauma she suffered on Altamid."

"Aww, Spock — don't beat yourself up over it," Jim said. "Sure, what she went through was awful — I read her report — but she's a Starfleet officer, trained to handle these types of situations. Of course she's also Human, so it's gonna take some time to work through it. She's probably second-guessing herself, wondering what she could've done to prevent some of the casualties, but... she has to realize that sometimes, things are simply out of your control. Otherwise you end up in an endless maze of guilt."

Spock studied Jim's face as he spoke, perceiving that his captain's words came from his own experience.

"But maybe after she processes all that, she'll be ready to talk again," Jim continued, throwing a quick smile at Spock. "She can't expect you to know _everything_ she's feeling. I mean, I know you feel emotions, Spock, but even if you'd gone through the same exact situation with her, you're not going to react to it the same way. Everyone's different. And maybe you weren't supportive _enough_ , but I'd bet anything you were at least _trying_ to be supportive of her. Maybe she'll see that... when she's ready."

Spock nodded. Jim's perspective did lighten much of the guilt he had been feeling.

"That's what ship's counselors are for, anyway," Jim said, then added, "and speaking of which, Bones told me you bribed him with a chicken dinner to make his own appointment. That's a trick I hope you don't mind if _I_ try on him sometime."

"I... did not intend the dinner to be a _bribe_ ," Spock replied, struggling to keep his head above the complicated and agitated sea of emotions formed in his heart by the mere mention of the doctor's name. Jim laughed.

"I'm just kidding, Spock! Relax! I should be thanking you for getting through his thick head — except that then he turned around and started nagging _me_. But I told him I'd do it if he did, so we both made our appointments this morning."

"I am... gratified to hear that," Spock said, trying furiously not to blush any more.

"I thought you might be. Funny how Starfleet doesn't think _you_ need to see a counselor, though."

"I believe my training in Vulcan logic and discipline is considered adequate."

"Yeah, but you're also half Human, Spock. Be honest: do you need some time off? To work through all this with Uhura? Or _about_ her, I should say. If you do, just say the word. Or if you'd rather call it medical leave, all you have to do is let Bones know — he's in meetings with the hospital administration today so he'd thank you for getting him out of it for a while."

"That will not be necessary," Spock hastily said. "However, if I might take the next duty hour off... it will probably enhance my productivity thereafter."

"All right, if that's all you need... but don't feel like you _have_ to come back in today. Like I said, work has been about as exciting as watching paint dry."

Jim watched in amusement as Spock analyzed the meaning of the expression.

"I will consider your offer, Captain. Thank you."

Jim nodded and smiled. "At ease, Spock — we're on break, after all. Oh, by the way, I also wanted to thank you for getting Bones home last night. He said he was drunk off his ass by the time you guys left his office. He couldn't remember much after that but he was pretty sure you got him back to his quarters and stayed until he was settled in."

"Ah... yes. I was concerned that he might have some difficulty on his own."

"Thanks, Spock. He usually can hold his liquor, but I guess he got a little carried away — said he saw some weird-ass dreams... something about nursery rhymes... He was still hung over this morning when we went for our swim 'cuz the pills hadn't kicked in yet. But did you notice how he talks better when he's drunk? He hardly even slurs like a normal person would — just drawls more and gets more chatty."

"He did seem... rather more loquacious than usual," Spock managed while still trying to process what else Jim had mentioned.

"He said he even told you about Joanna, which is really something."

"Yes... I was surprised to learn he had a daughter."

"Yeah, he keeps it under wraps pretty tightly." Jim rested his elbows on the wall and looked out at the park. "Wow, this view is trippy! You're looking down _into_ those trees from above. Wild!"

"Jim... I wonder," Spock began, trying to act nonchalant, "I don't mean to pry, but... Dr. McCoy said something about your trying to get him to go horseback riding again."

 _"What?"_ Jim squinted his eyes at Spock. "He's never ridden a horse in his life! Claims they're vicious beasts hell-bent on throwing people and giving them concussions. And I wouldn't even bother trying to talk him into it. You sure that's what he said?"

"I... had thought so," Spock replied, now uncertain.

"Oh, wait — I know what you're talking about!" Jim burst out. "You mean I was trying to 'get him back up on the horse that threw him,' right?"

"Yes!" Spock furrowed his brow. "I fail to see how that is different."

"It's a _metaphorical_ horse, Spock," Jim explained with a grin. "In this case it means I'm trying to get him back into the dating scene. Have been ever since I met him, actually, so it's been... God! It's been almost eight years already. And no joy in all those years. It's a damn shame... and a damn waste. He's such a great guy..."

"So the horse is... symbolic of... _dating_?" Spock asked, hesitant and confused.

"Yeah, or whatever knocked you down and made you scared to try again. For Bones it's romantic relationships. He told you about his ex-wife, right? Well, she really took him for a ride... and that doesn't mean in a good way, of course."

"So I had gathered."

"I mean, there he was, trying to make the best of a bad situation, and she couldn't — or wouldn't — wait for things to get resolved. It wasn't _his_ fault he had to do all that extra work, which he hadn't even finished training for properly, with people's lives at risk! But she cheated on him and then took his house and everything in the divorce, as if all she'd ever wanted from him was his money. No wonder he's turned into a bitter, grumbling old man before his time! And the saddest thing about it is, he was still in love with her when it all happened... He was still hoping to get through what he thought was a 'rough patch' — with couple's counseling or whatever it took — when he got served the divorce papers."

Spock could scarcely imagine what an impact that must have had. Although he had been working to control his emotions, he could feel them starting to rise to the surface again. With an effort, he tamped them down.

"That was... a betrayal," he commented, trying to ignore the remembered image of Jim's face when he had found out about Spock's report to Pike. "A betrayal... not only of trust but also of love."

"Exactly! Which is why he's so afraid of falling in love again. I tried to set him up with nice girls — and not just pretty but smart too — but he kept canceling on them or making excuses or ruining the first date by being even _more_ grumpy than usual, then if any of them were willing to put up with him and give him a second try, he had the balls to say they were just gold-diggers, only interested in him because he's a doctor and an officer! I even tricked him into a couple of double dates, but then he would be mad at me for _days_. I had to give up, especially when we started our five-year mission. He's a confirmed bachelor now, I'm afraid."

"Is being a gold miner considered... dishonorable?" Spock asked, raising one eyebrow. He had expected _all_ vocations to be considered equal, even on Earth.

"Oh! No, 'gold-digger' means someone who's only interested in money... or material gain. See, any doctor — particularly a good one like Bones — could rake in the credits in the private sector if they wanted. Being the chief medical officer on a Federation ship isn't shabby, either, but just by being a doctor — even if you don't count that he's an officer on top of that — you're pretty much guaranteed a good life. So he thinks any girl who's interested in him is only interested in his money, just like his ex. I'm telling you, she stole a lot more from him than just his house: she stole his confidence."

"I am... extremely sorry to hear that," Spock said slowly. "I had also observed... Dr. McCoy has very little confidence that he would be a good father to Joanna. I attempted to correct his way of thinking, though I do not know what degree of success I might have had."

"That's good of you, Spock! And you're right, he's worried about that too, even though you and I both know he'd be a _terrific_ dad. Basically, the only thing he has any self-confidence in anymore is his doctoring skills... but you can't be married to a profession — it can't love you back."

Spock raised a brow at the obvious truism but had to acknowledge that it was logical. Which gave him an idea.

"Do you have any evidence to disprove his theory that those women were... 'gold-diggers'?" he asked. "Some proof to logically refute his allegations?"

"Aww, I don't know... One of the first things people ask someone when they're introduced is their job — especially on a date — so it's not like I can get hard evidence that they weren't influenced by knowing he's a doctor. It's a good thought, though... Maybe I should set him up with girls who don't know what he does... but what would I tell them if they ask? Say he's in Starfleet without his rank and title? Or make something up that's less... lucrative?"

Spock frowned. "I believe it is inadvisable to begin _any_ relationship with deception."

"I know... but that's what makes it so impossible to hook him up with anyone!" Jim passed a hand through his hair in frustration. "I guess the only alternative is to find someone who's already so rich that it wouldn't matter, but even I don't have _that_ many connections..."

The ruminative silence that followed was broken by Jim's communicator beeping. "Kirk here," he answered automatically.

"Captain, you're requested to meet Commodore Fredricks in Conference Room 3."

"Oh, right! Tell him I'm sorry to keep him waiting — something personal came up. I'll be there right away." To Spock he added, "Duty calls. More debriefing. Good thing I wore an extra pair today, huh?"

Before the quizzical look on Spock's face had resolved, Jim was halfway across the rooftop to the turbolift.

Spock returned his gaze to the park. He had not voiced it to Jim, but he thought he might have come up with a viable third alternative to the conundrum Dr. McCoy posed.

 _"Ridiculous,"_ he scolded himself. _"It's... wishful thinking. I must not allow my emotions to dictate my actions."_

He suddenly realized that he was gripping the edge of the wall much harder than was necessary; also realizing that he had no further need to be pressed against the concrete, he relaxed his grip and forced himself to assume his usual position — hands clasped behind his back — as he made his way to the turbolift and then to his quarters. He knew he was in need of a long meditation session.


	11. Chapter 11: Life Happens

Spock conscientiously set an alarm to rouse himself in time to return to work by 1500, having received the captain's permission to skip his 1300 duty hour as well as the 1100. He hoped to work for 2 hours straight to make up for one of the missed hours; the other he would do later in the evening either today or tomorrow. It all depended on how much focus he could regain by meditation. He had also purchased a salad on his way back to his quarters, which he now sat down to eat.

His communicator beeped before he had finished his first bite.

"Spock here."

"Spock! Are you all right?" Uhura asked, sounding distressed. "You didn't come back at your usual time so the captain went looking for you, but then he had a lunch meeting—"

"I am fine, Nyota," Spock interrupted. "The captain did find me. I will return to my duty station at 1500."

"Spock... I'm so sorry," she started anew, her tone low and contrite. "I shouldn't have blown up at you last night, especially when it was so late..."

"If you believe the lateness of the hour is what affected me this morning, then you are mistaken. And there is no need to apologize, Nyota — your arguments were valid and logical. I thank you for bringing them to my attention."

"Oh?"

"In fact I was contemplating the various pieces of evidence regarding your accusation that I have become obsessed with Dr. McCoy and... lost track of the time."

 _"Another proof of my obsession,"_ he mentally counted before continuing.

"After compiling at least sixteen of them, I am forced to conclude that your observations are correct. I have been... acting irrationally — on impulse, as it were — when it came to matters regarding him, although I was not conscious of it at the time. For that, it is _I_ who must apologize to _you_."

There was a pause on the other end, during which Spock could hear the distant clattering of dishes. Uhura was probably calling from somewhere near the cafeteria since it was her lunch hour.

"I... I see," she finally began, "so... I was right. You _are_ in love with him."

"That is a premature assumption," Spock hurried to say. "Obsession does not necessarily equate with love. It may be an intense fascination — such as one might develop for a specific field of study, which will be satisfied as soon as an adequate investigation of it has been concluded. Or the circumstances of our being stranded together on Altamid may have formed a strong bond between us, which may dissipate over time. In any case, it would be incautious to assume that attraction is tantamount to love."

Spock could hear her swallow before she said, "But you _are_ attracted to him."

He had not considered in advance how that word would affect her, but he could not deny the truth now.

"Yes," he stated, closing his eyes as he did so.

There was another long moment of silence in which Spock thought he could hear her sniff — perhaps muffled into a handkerchief.

"I understand," she said at last, her voice steeled and steady. "I assume you're going to tell him?"

"That... I have not yet decided," he admitted. "I have not had adequate time to consider the matter any further."

Uhura took in a deep breath before saying, "You should, Spock. You really should. I think he would be... pleasantly surprised."

"I will... take that under advisement," Spock replied, sensing grief and sorrow frothing in his usually placid pool of emotions. He knew Uhura was letting him go, giving him permission, as best she could. "You know I have always respected your opinion, Nyota... in _all_ matters."

"I know," she said gently.

"I fear... I do not know how to sufficiently express my regret."

"It's all right, Spock... these things happen. I just want you to... promise me... that you'll take care of yourself."

"I will," he answered, "as I also wish of you."

There was a definite sniff before she said, "Goodbye, Spock."

"Goodbye, Nyota."

Spock discovered he no longer had any appetite for the salad, but he forced himself to eat it anyway. It was the least he could do to honor Uhura's wishes.

Focusing on the flame in front of him was proving difficult. Not only was Spock distracted by the turmoil in his heart from the finality of his breakup with Uhura, but he was also struggling (and failing) to ignore the question she had posed to him. Realizing that it was illogical to ignore the matter when it was so obviously demanding his attention, he decided to deal with it instead.

 _"Should I or should I not inform Leonard of my... attraction to him?"_ he mulled. _"Nyota suggested that he might be 'pleasantly surprised.' I suppose it is a pleasant thing to know that one is liked... admired... respected... regardless of the circumstances. I had attempted to communicate as much with my gift, but this would be... another thing altogether."_

Spock thought he felt his heartrate increase, but he only concentrated harder on the issue at hand.

 _"There is no evidence that the doctor is attracted to other males, let alone one from another species. Nyota seems to think he has some sort of... fascination with me, but that is no doubt due to our very different personalities. He experiences emotions very deeply — even more so than other Humans — so the fact that I can control mine must seem an enigma to him... like a puzzle, to be solved. Perhaps that is why he has always been so bent on provoking an emotional response from me... He may hold me in some regard as the science and first officer, but that would be strictly professional... and platonic, of course. So the probability that he might return my affections is... virtually zero."_

Spock was unsure why his chest felt as though it were being compressed or why there was a stinging sensation in his sinuses. Chalking it up to the combined effects of lack of sleep and intense concentration taking their toll on him, he drew in a deep breath to counteract the symptoms and forged on.

 _"Is there any benefit to such an admission? I suppose it may encourage him to know that he is capable of inspiring such sentiments... perhaps boost his confidence, which Jim is concerned has sustained long-term damage. Does Nyota also share Jim's concerns for Leonard? She is very perceptive, so it is not beyond the realm of possibility that she has intuited his lack of confidence — why he has not formed any romantic attachments in... eight years, if Jim's calculations are correct. And for a man of such deep emotions, loneliness and sadness must feel that much greater,"_ Spock realized. _"It is no wonder that he is so fond of alcohol! For Humans it numbs the mind and dulls the senses, an effective way to blunt the effects of emotional pain... even though it solves nothing."_

The bare idea of McCoy being in so much pain formed a hollow ache deep within Spock. Struggling to maintain control, he focused back on the candle's flame, corralling the stray tendrils of his thoughts.

 _"So then Nyota's recommendation to share this information with him may be because it is precisely 'what the doctor ordered' as far as proving to him that other individuals can and_ do _find him desirable — and not solely for his economic status, since he should realize that such things would not influence my judgment in the least. It would solve the dilemma Jim has of providing evidence to Leonard that he is lovable regardless of his wealth. Of all the people who might express an interest in him, I would be the most unbiased and therefore the most credible. Even if, perhaps, I may be the least... welcome."_

The stinging in Spock's sinuses increased, causing his eyes to water, so he pinched the bridge of his nose to stimulate blood flow and ease his muscle tension.

 _"Given our history of factious quarrels, he would no doubt be extremely surprised to receive such a confession. Would it cause him to feel awkward around me? Would it decrease his work efficiency while around me... or might he refuse to be in my presence unless absolutely necessary? If he requests a segregation... of course I will comply. It would be unfair to him to affect his performance in an adverse way, even in the slightest."_

He countered the increasing pressure behind his eyes by stimulating the nerve bundles in his temples.

 _"I must also assure him, if I do inform him of my attraction to him, that I do not expect him to reciprocate — that I have merely stated it as a matter of fact. Perhaps he would find it of psychological interest... I would wish to record my observations to see how my feelings may change over time, and he would be able to provide valuable insights from a Human perspective. Assuming, of course, that he does not demand that I keep my distance. Although if he does, it would at least decrease the occasions on which we would engage in our customary verbal sparring. Nyota seems to be under the impression that I enjoy it as a challenge, but she is mistaken; it is only the result of proving logic to be superior to blind emotions that I value. However, I have always been concerned that our arguing may appear unprofessional to our crewmates. If such encounters were to subside, it would be beneficial to all of the crew, showing by example that we are each capable of overcoming our differences for the greater good. And I... I should be relieved to be spared from such a frivolous waste of time."_

Logic dictated that this was true, even if the prospect of no longer having those repartees did not bring any sense of relief or satisfaction to Spock at the moment.

 _"Not that Leonard has ever been malicious in his teasing,"_ he thought, defending the doctor without consciously choosing to do so. _"I never allowed his words to hurt me, of course, but... he has never said anything cruel or untrue simply for the sake of being hurtful — unlike my fellow students on Vulcan. While they attempted to illicit emotional responses from me as proof that I was inferior to them, for Leonard it seems to be... more a matter of amusement... or entertainment. It's a challenge, of sorts, to break down my self-discipline. Any weakness I might display would be considered a type of conquest, I suppose. But often his accusations are no more than a statement of fact, and even his favorite epithet for me, 'green-blooded hobgoblin,' is more amusing than disparaging."_

Spock had overheard that particular phrase when McCoy had first muttered it; his hypersensitive ears had picked it up from across the bridge. However, he had had to look up what a "hobgoblin" was much later, after the chaos of that devastating battle had settled and he had mourned the loss of his mother, his home planet, and most of its inhabitants for a while. What he had found on the subject had left him mildly confused — in some cases the hobgoblin was a helpful creature, performing household chores while its human host family slept, but it was also described as capricious and mischievous, neither of which (Spock was quite certain) were apt descriptors of himself. He had concluded that the only similarity between him and the legendary being was their pointed ears and, having been referred to as "devil" and "demon" for the same feature, all in all he was not offended by the doctor's chosen appellation.

 _"At any rate, it would be better for discipline and morale if we could avoid such confrontations altogether,"_ Spock thought firmly, quashing any wistfulness over the loss of hearing McCoy's colorful and creative tirades. _"Is it possible that an admission of my affection for him might lead to an actual improvement in our work relationship? Could it perhaps lessen some of his irritability toward me to realize that I bear no ill will toward him but rather quite the opposite? Even if he does not welcome or encourage my attraction to him, there is a good chance that knowing of it may ease the tension between our differing temperaments — a significant benefit to consider in deciding whether to inform him or not._

 _"So then, what might some of the disadvantages be? If he wishes to maintain a distance from me, that would be... a personal loss, but for myself only; for crew discipline it would be a benefit. Any discomfort Leonard might feel, I would do all in my power to alleviate. I could, perhaps, enlist the captain's aid in allaying any concerns Leonard might have... although it is likely that Leonard would go to Jim himself, considering their close friendship. Yes, indubitably, if I inform Leonard, he would inform the captain in turn. Which is as it should be, since Jim is the commanding officer of us both."_

A telltale warm flush crept up Spock's cheeks for the second time today.

 _"It is not something to be embarrassed about,"_ Spock thought furiously, _"regardless of how much Jim will_ most assuredly _tease me about it. He is not malicious in his humor, either. After some time has passed with no new developments, his attention will be drawn elsewhere... with perhaps only the occasional gibe as the opportunity presents itself. That is nothing I cannot withstand. And Leonard himself is too kind and compassionate to use my attraction for him to inflict pain. Even though he is not particularly fond of me, he was concerned for my physical wellbeing as much as he would have been for any other crew member. In addition, his own experience — losing his wife's affections while he still loved her — would make him more sympathetic than most others. I have nothing to fear in that regard."_

Spock caught himself and abruptly sat upright.

 _"I should not fear anything at all! Fear is only a... debilitating emotion if one allows it to be. Even if Leonard were to callously mock me for my helpless attraction to him (though he would never), I should not fear it. Even if Jim were to broadcast it to the entire crew and make a spectacle out of me (which I doubt), I should not fear it. No, of course — with so many potential benefits, it is clear that I must inform Leonard and... 'let the chips fall where they may.'"_

However, Spock's body chose that moment to rebel against him in full force. His heart thumped louder than ever before, his flush spread to conquer most of his upper body, and his hands — in spite of being steepled together — began to tremble.

 _"Why am I reacting this way? Is it embarrassment? But it feels more like anxiety..._ fear _. Why should I fear telling him the truth? The outcome — his response — is clear. There is no logical reason to fear it or anything else. He will be surprised, possibly flattered, and perhaps there will be some awkwardness for a while. But eventually he should grow accustomed to the concept and, finding that I will never do anything to make him uncomfortable, he should move beyond it. In fact if it works well in restoring his confidence, he may even become receptive to dating the women Jim wishes to introduce to him."_

A sudden surge of heat engulfed Spock, momentarily overwhelming his senses. When he grew calm enough to assess himself, he discovered that his emotions had grown so turbulent as to throw off his tightly held control. And at the surface of that roiling sea was the throbbing, pulsing green fury that he had sensed often in others but never to such an extent in himself before: _ENVY-JEALOUSY-ENVY-RAGE_.

He had barely begun to contain that maelstrom when his alarm notified him that it was almost time for him to report for duty.


	12. Chapter 12: Symptomatic

Spock hastily prepared to return to duty, the majority of his efforts going to calm his tempestuous emotions.

 _"I will not be jealous over Leonard... I will not be jealous of any woman who captures his affections... I will not be upset by his pursuing a relationship with somebody else... I will not..."_ he repeated in his mind while combing his hair more than was necessary. He continued his mantra as he walked out of his quarters and his building, paused to take the site-to-site transporter, then rode the turbolift up to the offices shared by the quasi-marooned Enterprise crew. Though he tried to ignore extraneous thoughts, he had to admit relief over the fact that Uhura would be going to see her counselor now so their paths would not cross. At least until tomorrow.

Once at his desk, he attacked the reports submitted for his review as though intending to make up for his two lost hours in one. The captain's summary that all of the reports were of normal progress was not entirely correct, but even at his furious pace, Spock was able to catch the problematic ones and follow them up with alternate orders. Half an hour in, he took a break to get some hot tea at the replicator station and looked out over the rows of desks while tasting his first few sips. Over half of the remaining crew had opted to take their leave time now, which made sense not only since they had no ship but also since they'd been in space for over three years. In addition, many wished to spend time with family and friends to recover from the trauma of their capture on Altamid. So it was a very small remnant indeed who occupied the large space. Each duty station had a sound-buffering shield around it to prevent any distractions, but the clear barriers allowed an unobstructed view of the entire room. Spock could name each of the officers present — as well as those who would never return.

 _"We are fortunate to still have our captain,"_ Spock thought as he saw Jim walking out of the turbolift, returning from somewhere. _"And I am fortunate that Leonard made it out alive... despite having to fly in that 'death trap' again. I should be glad just to know he is safe. I must not desire any more. I will not ask for more."_

He returned to his desk with renewed resolve. The tea had also seemed to soothe his frayed nerves. He was not even startled when Jim clapped him on the shoulder.

"You okay to be back here?" Jim asked quietly, taking care to stay within the buffer around Spock's desk.

"Perfectly," Spock answered with confidence. "Please forgive me for any concern I may have caused."

"Don't worry about it," Jim said, smiling and patting his back before going over to his own desk where a yeoman had just arrived with a stack of PADDS.

Spock glanced up to see him chatting with the pretty young woman, which was not surprising. However, it reminded Spock that the captain was still hoping to find a good match for Dr. McCoy. For a second it took all of Spock's considerable self-discipline to keep his burst of jealousy under control. He pressed a hand to his temple, hiding his face behind a PADD with another.

 _"This is... unacceptable,"_ he scolded himself. _"I should be happy for Leonard if he can find someone who can cure his loneliness! I must move past this illogical desire to possess that which I cannot have."_

Taking a deep breath, Spock schooled his face into a neutral expression and pretended to read the PADD.

 _"I should inform Leonard of my attraction to him at the earliest opportunity, then accept his dismissal with grace. Perhaps I could ask him to join me for dinner... but not at a restaurant — that would be too public. Possibly my quarters? I could prepare some simple Terran dishes... or would that seem too intimate? As though I am expecting him to requite my feelings? Then of course_ his _quarters would be too presumptuous... Perhaps his office? I could bring in a meal as I did last night. Yes, that would be perfect. I will call him sometime... tomorrow, possibly the day after, to set up a time that would be convenient for him."_

With the matter settled in his own mind, Spock returned his focus to the reports. There were few anomalies, so he whipped through them swiftly and did not notice when the time had passed the top of the next hour. In fact he was so engrossed in his work that he did not hear the angry footsteps approaching outside his buffer.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice growled behind him, making him start. "First you skip two duty hours, then you think you can make them up all at once?"

"Doctor McCoy," Spock replied thickly, his mouth as dry as a Vulcan desert, while his chair was turned around by none other. "I—I thought it might be permissible, since—"

"Well, that shows what thought did for you," McCoy snapped. "You're off of restricted duty starting tomorrow, but I've got half a mind to extend it for another week!"

"Surely that isn't necessary," Spock remonstrated, trying to sound reasonable and not petulant. "I only intended to be here two hours. The other hour I will make up tomorrow... after another hour break, if you insist."

"What I insist on is that people take my directions seriously! It's bad enough that Jim flouts my warnings; I sure as hell don't need _you_ to set a bad example as well."

Spock might have bristled at McCoy's words if he could not sense the powerful waves of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN-CONCERN_ emanating from the doctor. He was also somewhat distracted to see McCoy wearing his hospital whites, which looked incongruous in the Starfleet office — and extremely dapper.

"I am... very sorry, Doctor, if I caused you any concern," Spock began, his tone contrite, while McCoy began scanning him with his medical tricorder. "But I do believe I am well enough to review these reports."

"I'll be the judge of that," was the gruff reply. "Your heartrate is higher than normal and even your blood pressure is elevated enough to register on this thing. I saw that Jim had authorized your leave earlier today, which is fine, but he didn't answer my messages asking what had happened. And then I see that you logged in to work last hour, only to overstay! What the hell is going on?"

Finding himself the object of McCoy's piercing gaze, Spock struggled to string some coherent words together.

"I, uh... I am fine, Doctor, just... somewhat... distracted," he managed.

 _"'Distracted'?"_ McCoy echoed. "Since when does that affect your logical Vulcan mind?"

"I... happen to have... a lot of things... _issues_... on my mind," Spock answered, deliberately trying to be vague.

McCoy squinted at him, his scowl softening a little. "What kind of things? Like your future self dying?"

Spock considered this and nodded, adding, "Among others."

"And this is causing enough stress to affect your heart and blood pressure?" he demanded, starting to run his tricorder again on different settings. "Spock... if it was bothering you so much, why didn't you tell me last night? I know I was drunk off my ass, but I would've shut up and just _listened_ if you needed to vent."

"I had not... considered it... necessary," Spock replied, eyeing the tricorder sensor as McCoy ran it all around his body. It helped to look at something other than the doctor's face, which was now focused on the readouts.

"Well, I know you can't get drunk, so it's not a hangover," he began, possibly choosing to use deduction since it was a logical method even Spock would approve of. "Your injuries have healed up fine, so they're not causing any adverse effects. Have you had any heart palpitations?"

"No palpitations, although... my heartrate has been elevated for some time now."

"Since when?"

"This afternoon... possibly this morning."

Scowling again, McCoy did another pass with the tricorder. "Any shortness of breath?"

"Ah... some constriction of the chest," Spock admitted.

"Any other symptoms?"

"Some... slight pain in the sinuses... and temples."

"Sounds like a classic case of tension headache," McCoy said thoughtfully. "How long does it last?"

"Just occasional flashes... not long at all."

"Hmm. But it was bad enough that you took off two duty hours this morning?"

"Oh, no, that was... that was before... That is, most of the symptoms appeared this afternoon, when I was attempting to meditate."

McCoy scrunched his face in bewilderment. "Well, that's not helpful! Meditation is exactly what you _should_ be doing to relieve stress. But then, why did you take off this morning?"

"I, ah..." Spock started, then turned to his station and increased the power level of his sound buffer. A low hum crackled over the outer surface, indicating that anything they said inside would be virtually inaudible outside. "I was... distracted enough... that I lost track of the time. You see..." — he swallowed, wishing his throat were not so parched — "Lieutenant Uhura and I have... decided to part ways... again."

"Dammit, Spock!" McCoy exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Why didn't you say something yesterday?"

"It only happened this morning," Spock explained.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. No wonder you're so stressed. Do you think if I gave you some time off, you'd be able to pull your shit back together again? You don't have to do it alone, though, if you think it might help to talk to a counselor."

"I do not believe... that would be helpful. It would not change the facts of the matter at all."

"No, but it might change your _outlook_ on the facts. That's the whole point, isn't it?" McCoy said, adding, " _You're_ the one who talked _me_ into going, weren't you? Or was that just a figment of my drunken imagination?"

Spock opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated, reminded that the doctor believed much of what had happened last night — when they had been together — was a hallucination.

"No, Doctor, you did not imagine that," he stated calmly, although his chest felt like it was being squeezed. "I certainly appreciate... the benefits to be gained from..."

"What is it?" McCoy asked, having noted the slight shadow of pain that had crossed Spock's face. He switched the tricorder settings rapidly. "Are you feeling tightness in your chest again?"

"Yes," Spock confessed, growing more concerned now that he noticed the frequency of the symptoms.

"Let's get you to the hospital and run a full battery of tests, just in case it's something other than stress," McCoy said, putting his tools away in his satchel. "Call me biased, but I can't believe a little thing like _emotions_ could affect you this much."

"I must concur," Spock agreed, slowly standing up from the chair and straightening his uniform. Catching some movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to see Jim waving his hands wildly outside the barrier.

"Hey, guys — what's going on?" he asked as soon as the buffer was shut off. "You two look too serious."

"Dammit, Jim, you know that's covered under doctor-patient confidentiality," McCoy pointed out. "If I think it's going to affect his work performance, I'll let you know. For right now I need to take him with me to run some tests."

"Oh, God! It's not serious, is it?"

"I hope not, but I won't know until I run those tests," McCoy not-so-subtly hinted, then placed a hand on the small of Spock's back to move him toward the turbolift.

The sudden influx of _WORRY-WORRY-WORRY_ flooded Spock's consciousness and overpowered him; the next moment he found his body held up by both of the other men and the volume of _WORRY-WORRY-WORRY_ beating into his mind had doubled — perhaps even tripled.

"Spock! Can you hear me?" McCoy asked, pulling open the Vulcan's eyelids to check his pupils.

Spock chuckled in response, since the doctor's concern was almost the _only_ thing he could hear right now.

"Yes," he gasped as he attempted to support himself. The ceiling seemed to be spinning. "I believe I am suffering from vertigo as well."

"Fuck! He's in bad shape," McCoy spat out, directed at Jim. "I gotta get him to the hospital _now!_ Order an emergency site-to-site transport for me." So saying, he took Spock's full weight and hoisted him over one shoulder while Jim barked the orders into the comm. A moment later the familiar swirl of energy enveloped them, and then they were deposited in an emergency bay. "I need a full diagnostic scan run on him! Vulcan male, presenting with vertigo, delirium, increased heartrate and blood pressure, some indication of tension headaches," he announced to the room, setting off a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as McCoy had deposited him on the biobed and ceased touching him directly, Spock felt his sanity returning; however, he thought it best to have the tests run, as the doctor had said, to rule out any serious diseases. He could not help noticing that McCoy looked extremely handsome as he directed the emergency medical team — clearly in his element — with his whole attention focused on Spock and his mysterious malady. When Spock's cheeks and ears flushed involuntarily, McCoy swore up a blue streak.

"Now he's fucking got a goddam _fever_ ," he snarled to nobody in particular before picking up a hypospray.

Whatever he injected into Spock had the blessed effect of allowing him to sleep through the chaos.


	13. Chapter 13: Awakening

Spock woke to the sound of a whispered conversation, feeling drowsy but peaceful.

"All right — call me if you need anything," he thought he heard Jim say, then a door closed. The deep sigh that followed was accompanied by a faint wave of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ which he recognized as McCoy's.

"D—Doc— tor," he mumbled, noticing that his mouth was dry and had a strange metallic taste.

"Spock! I'm right here," McCoy answered, moving closer. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty," Spock croaked.

McCoy pressed a button to raise the head of the biobed, then placed a straw to his lips. "Here you are."

Taking grateful sips of the water, Spock willed his eyes to open. Seeing McCoy's concerned face close to his own made his heartrate increase, in turn causing McCoy to glance up at the readouts and frown. However, Spock was not assaulted by intense feelings like he had before, despite their proximity. The _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ felt muted somehow.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You sure gave us a turn there, Spock," McCoy told him quietly. "The worst part is, I still don't know what's ailing you. All the tests came back negative — there's no physical cause for your symptoms... and yet, there they are."

"No physical cause..." Spock slowly repeated. "But that is a good thing, is it not?"

"It is... except that there's no explanation for what's happening. The only other factor is psychological... which is more difficult to cure." McCoy pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down before continuing. "The good news is, you don't have any brain tumors, Bendii Syndrome, or Pa'nar Syndrome. So the only conclusion I can come to is that this breakup with Uhura, combined with Ambassador Spock's passing, is affecting you enough to cause physical symptoms."

"I see," Spock replied. "That is... quite logical. And thorough. I am impressed... that you thought to check for those diseases."

"Well, at least in the case of Bendii, you're too young to be a candidate for it, but then again you're not a typical Vulcan, are you?" McCoy's attempt to smile came out strained. "You're one of a kind. Which makes you damn unique, but it also means I have no cases to compare this with."

"I regret that I present such a challenge, Doctor," Spock said without sarcasm. "But since you have ruled out a physical cause, I can analyze the psychological myself. If there is no abnormality in my brain functions, I should be able to control my emotions — and, thereby, my symptoms."

"It's not that easy, Spock... not even for you," McCoy pointed out. "The fact is, you haven't been able to." He paused before asking, "Spock... is it possible... that after time, your Human traits are... getting stronger? That you might be feeling your emotions more because the Human side of you is trying to take over?"

"It is possible," he conceded, "but doubtful. Although, as you say, since I am the first of my kind, there is no way to know. What I _can_ assure you is that Vulcan emotions run deeper than Human emotions, meaning that if my Human side were to assert dominance, my emotions would be _less_ violent, if anything. The major difference would be my inability to control them."

"Huh." McCoy rubbed his forehead. "So Vulcans feel... more intensely than Humans?"

"Yes. Which is why it was vital to master our emotions." Spock shifted, trying to sit up, and found his movements were sluggish. When McCoy jumped up to help him, his heartrate increased again along with the _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ which was communicated through their contact. Spock noticed the doctor was avoiding touching his skin, but even through his clothes Spock knew he should be feeling McCoy's emotions more loudly. "Thank you. Doctor, did you inject me with a tranquilizer?"

"Uh, yeah — just a mild sedative with a muscle relaxant. You might feel a bit hazy for a while."

"Ah. That would explain it." He took a long drink of the water. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Couple of hours. Actually," McCoy checked his watch, "make that four. Okay, I might've overdone it with the sedative, but I needed to stabilize your vitals. Are you hungry? You must be, since I had an energy bar a while ago and I'm still starving. I'll go grab something from the replicator. What're you in the mood for?"

Spock did not bother to tell him that he did not have moods, especially since he seemed to have been at the mercy of his emotions for the past few days.

"I would appreciate some hot soup. I feel somewhat dehydrated."

"Oh, yeah — that's a side effect of the sedative. I'll be right back." McCoy turned to look at him again from the doorway. "Don't go anywhere! Doctor's orders," he declared, half-joking, though the effect was ruined by the crease between his brows belying his concern.

"Of course," Spock answered, lying back as he was left alone in the room. The lights of Yorktown had been dimmed for its simulated nightfall, allowing him to see some of the stars beyond its sphere.

 _"So it seems I have fallen prey — increasingly, as time progresses — to my irrational emotions,"_ he pondered. _"All of those symptoms were simply... products of my feelings. Fascinating... and horrifying. I must restore my inner equilibrium. Perhaps a few days' medical leave would be in order after all. Some meditation and calming exercises should help. And I must tell Leonard the true cause of my agitation... so that I may begin exorcising it."_

The tell-tale beeping of the biobed monitor indicated that Spock's heartrate had increased again. He needed no medical equipment to tell him that his breathing was constricted, this time not only by a tightness in the chest but also by what felt like a large blockage in his throat. His eyes stung with tears which he refused to shed.

 _"This is illogical! And pointless,"_ he thought furiously. _"Weeping and gnashing my teeth will make no difference in the situation, and if I do not control these physical symptoms, they will only make Leonard worry more. I must control them... calm them... rein them in..."_

The beeping of the monitor gradually receded as Spock forced his mind to overcome his heart. He drew in deep, cleansing breaths and pushed his feelings as deep down as possible.

 _"There, that is better. From here on I will make all of my decisions logically. In fact,"_ he realized, glancing around, _"if Leonard can spare the time, I should tell him now — here, in the privacy of this recovery room — and get it over with. It is part of my medical diagnosis, after all; he will of course keep it confidential, and he will also know that my imbalance was not caused simply because my relationship with Nyota has ended."_ A faint trace of irritation threatened to disturb his coerced tranquility. _"I may be struggling with my emotions, but I am not so weak as to be utterly upset by an amicable separation. It was caused by an unfortunate combination of factors: the death of my future self; my guilt over abandoning Nyota in her time of need, no matter how inadvertently; and my sudden and profound attraction to Leonard — something I had never experienced before. Any one of these factors, taken alone, could not have unsettled me to this degree."_

The door opened and McCoy stepped in with two stacked trays.

"The replicator here isn't programmed for plomeek soup, so I hope tomato soup is okay," he said apologetically while setting one tray on the over-bed table. "The fruit salad should help with your electrolytes. You also need protein, so I got you a tofu-hummus sandwich in a pita. It's bland but easily digestible."

"Thank you, Doctor. That sounds quite appetizing."

"I saw your vitals spike again while I was gone. How are you feeling?"

"I am feeling... better. As you can see, my readings have returned to normal. Once I knew that those symptoms were caused by my emotions, I was able to regulate them."

"Just like that?" McCoy asked, incredulous, as he sat down with his own tray of soup and a turkey sandwich.

"Just like that," Spock affirmed, picking up his spoon. "Being Vulcan... does have its advantages."

"I guess," McCoy said wryly before taking a bite. Spock followed suit and found his unexpected meal selections to be delicious. When he told McCoy, the doctor grinned in genuine pleasure, dazzling Spock for a split second and threatening to elevate his heartrate again. Spock forced himself to objectively observe the other man's features and noted that while the smile relieved the severity of McCoy's expression, it also revealed how exhausted he was.

"I must apologize for keeping you here until such a late hour," Spock stated. "I am... unspeakably embarrassed... since it could have been avoided altogether... had I only realized what was causing it."

"Ah, don't worry, Spock," McCoy said with a dismissive wave of one hand. "I was dying of boredom in all those meetings today. I ought to thank you for getting me out of the last one — the chief of the surgery department can be really long-winded."

As they ate, McCoy asked Spock a few questions about the progress on the new Enterprise and Spock asked McCoy about the hospital's work. When they occasionally lapsed into silence, it was companionable.

"Well, that hit the spot," McCoy said, tossing his napkin on the tray. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you — that was more than adequate," Spock said, then hesitated before starting, "However, if I may... ask a favor..."

"What? Name it," McCoy answered while collecting Spock's tray.

"Please feel free to refuse — I realize you must be tired from a long day — but I wonder if I might impose on your time for a while longer."

"Sure, no problem." He threw the trays into the recycling chute. "Tomorrow's my day off, anyway."

"Oh. I am glad to hear it." Spock felt a flush creeping over his neck and spreading up his cheeks as his body reacted to what he was about to do. It did not help matters when McCoy pulled his chair even closer to the bed and elevated the seat so he would be at Spock's eye level. The heartrate monitor started beeping its alarm in spite of his best efforts to remain calm.

"You're spiking again — are you all right?"

"Yes, about that..." Spock began as he felt his body careen out of control. He was fidgeting with the blanket on his lap without realizing it, avoiding meeting McCoy's concerned gaze. "There is no reason to worry, Doctor. Since you have proven that there are no physiological issues, I am reasonably certain as to what the psychological cause is... and it is not merely due to my parting ways with Lieutenant Uhura."

"Yeah? Well, you've obviously had a lot on your mind. I mean, being faced with your own mortality — first with you future self dying and then almost getting punctured in the heart yourself — it would be enough to send _anybody_ around the bend."

"Perhaps... but those things alone... or even in tandem with my relationship with Miss Uhura ending... would not account for the total lack of control I am now experiencing."

McCoy reached over to the monitor and pressed some buttons, turning off the incessant alarms.

"So what else is going on?" he asked gently. His waves of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ were growing stronger; Spock thought that with the ingestion of food, the effects of the sedative might be wearing off.

"There was a reason... a _significant_ reason... why Lieutenant Uhura and I decided to part ways," Spock started, still staring unseeingly at his own hands. "You see... as embarrassing as it is to admit... and as unintentional as it was... I seem to have... 'fallen in love'... with someone else."

He sensed McCoy's worry turn to shock.

"Wow... Well, no wonder she wanted to break up. But you're saying you didn't mean to?"

"No," Spock replied, feeling somewhat faint due to his heart beating rapidly. "I... I never intended... to hurt Nyota like that... but it was ... unavoidable... It simply _happened_."

"Oh, God, Spock," McCoy said, then gusted out a sigh. "It happens... I know. Love... just isn't logical."

"Apparently not," Spock agreed in a small voice. "I find myself... overwhelmed by it. My orderly life has been thrown into chaos because of it. And yet I cannot deny it."

"Yeah... sounds about right." There was a heavy silence before McCoy added, "This is about the time I would offer you a stiff drink."

"It would serve no purpose with my metabolism," Spock replied.

"More's the pity." McCoy paused until his curiosity won out. "So, if you don't mind my asking... who's the lucky lady that managed to steal you from Uhura?"

"It's... not a lady."

"Oh?" McCoy sounded intrigued. "A tramp, then?"

Spock shook his head. "A man."

"Oh!" The shockwave was palpable. "Spock, I had no idea..."

"Neither did I."

"Oh! God, that must've been... No wonder it's thrown you for a loop!"

"Indeed." Spock sighed, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable. "I... I hardly know how to tell him."

"Well, you know Jim," McCoy said in an encouraging tone. "He might tease you for a bit, but he doesn't mean any harm. He might even take you up on your offer!"

"I beg your pardon?" Spock asked, looking up at last.

"I mean, sure, he's dated women pretty exclusively since I've known him," McCoy explained, "but he did mention fooling around with one of his schoolmates when he was drunk, so, you know, it could happen."

"I—I don't... I d—didn't mean," Spock stammered, feeling as though the space station's artificial gravity had suddenly been repolarized under him.

"Aww, Spock, it's not like you had to spell it out," McCoy said with a lopsided grin. "I know you and Jim have had a special bond — ever since you marooned him and he came back for more! You've always made a great team. Besides, half the population that meets him has the same reaction: one look at those neon-blue eyes and you're a goner. I try not to look him in the eye too much, myself."

"No, no! You don't understand," Spock protested, his heartrate skyrocketing and his hands trembling. "It's not Jim! It's... It's _you_... Leonard..."

A second shockwave hit Spock, but this one was more of confusion and bewilderment.

"What?" McCoy said, slack-jawed.

Spock licked his lips — which had become dry again — before repeating, "It's _you_ , Leonard... I can't stop... thinking about you. Just being near you... elevates my heartrate."

McCoy's lips twitched a couple of times, then he finally asked, _"Me?"_

"Yes! _You_." Spock felt a surge of relief at having verbalized it. "Nyota suspected it first, and she was correct. I have been acting irrationally around you, and further analysis of the evidence proved it: I am in love with you."

McCoy stared at Spock for a long moment, openmouthed, before seeming to recollect himself.

"Spock... did Jim put you up to this?"

"Wh—What?"

"Did Jim put you up to this?" McCoy demanded. "He must've blackmailed you... or maybe he convinced you that it'd be a great prank. Yeah, that's what this is, isn't it? Just a great, practical _joke!_ "

Spock could not understand why McCoy had stood up and turned his back to him, fists clenched; he had no idea why there were great, searing-hot waves of anger rolling off of the Human, staggering in their intensity.

"Leonard?" Spock whispered, his heart pounding in his throat. The waves of rage crashed all around him, through him, filling the room. "Leonard," Spock called again, "please, Jim had nothing to do with this! He had no knowledge of... of how I feel." The reverberating waves of anger lessened somewhat, resolving into powerful storm surges of _HURT-HURT-ANGER-SADNESS_ , but they had already eroded Spock's own tentatively controlled emotions. He had been prepared for outright refusal, polite condescension, even active avoidance — but not this. He was weeping before he knew it, great tears blurring his vision and rolling down his cheeks as he struggled to deal with two sets of conflicting emotions.

"Is that what he told you to say?" McCoy asked, his tone calm but with an icy edge. _SUSPICION_ emanated from him like a cold blast.

"What? No!" Spock responded, gasping for air. "He had... nothing to do... with this! He knew... _nothing!_ "

Hearing the distress in Spock's voice, McCoy turned back to face him and was shocked anew by what he saw.

"Spock! What the hell... What's the matter?" _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ rapidly replaced the earlier turbulence as McCoy drew close.

"I... do not ask... that you return... my affection," Spock managed, "but I... had hoped... you would... at least... _believe_ me."

"I do! I do. I'm sorry," McCoy told him, sitting on the edge of the bed to embrace him. _SORRY-SORRY-HEAL-FIX_ washed over Spock, but instead of soothing him, the sudden shift in feelings shook loose his emotional moorings, causing him to cry even harder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," McCoy repeated, holding Spock closer and tighter, no longer avoiding touching his skin. _SORRY-SORRY-HEAL-SORRY-SORRY-FIX_ poured out of the doctor at full volume without any mitigating effect from the sedative.

Now that the tempest of feelings from McCoy had settled into a predictable pattern, Spock was able to assess the situation logically. He found that his hurt from being disbelieved was fading under the doctor's sincere desire to undo what damage he had inflicted; he also realized that McCoy's anger had not been directed at him, or it would not have been so easily subjugated to his caring. Most important of all, Spock was able to recognize that he was being held against McCoy's muscular chest and that he liked it very much — even though it meant his heartrate was still elevated, leaving him lightheaded. In fact he wanted to stay there forever.

"Shhh... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," McCoy murmured into Spock's hair. "Dammit, Spock, I didn't mean to hurt you! I would never hurt you... not on purpose..."

McCoy's hands cradled Spock's neck and head as McCoy pressed his lips to Spock's forehead. White balls of crackling lightning burst out of those contact points and sped across Spock's body to dissipate off his toes.

 _"Fascinating,"_ he thought, then he clutched the doctor's white uniform tightly with both hands.


	14. Chapter 14: Perceptions

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." McCoy repeated like a mantra until Spock's sobs subsided. Then he continued to hold him, as if at a loss for what else he could do to fix a broken Vulcan. His overwhelming emotions of _WORRY- WORRY-HEAL-HEAL_ were becoming intermixed with _DOUBT-DOUBT-UNCLEAR-UNSURE_ , which ultimately gave Spock the incentive to pull himself out of the comfort of McCoy's arms to face him — as well as his fears.

"Leonard," he said, wishing his voice didn't sound so strange from his nose being congested, "why did you not believe me? I have never deliberately deceived you..."

"I know, I'm sorry, I should've known better," McCoy hurried to tell him, his face flushed red. "It's just... well, you're the last person I ever expected to... hear that sort of thing from."

"I admit it may seem... unusual... out of character, perhaps... but I assure you, I would never state a blatant lie about such things... or say them in jest."

"No, of course not! _You_ would never... I know. But... see, I thought Jim had somehow convinced you — made you think it would be a good idea to, y'know, to... go along with him... or something..."

Spock cocked his head slightly in puzzlement. "But I informed you that Jim had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah... yeah, you did," McCoy agreed, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "But the thing is, Jim's been teasing me... for some time now... that I've... ahh... got a _thing_ for you. And he was here earlier, saying I could kiss you to wake you up, that you'd never know, that sort of thing... He'd also approved your leave this morning but never called me back to tell me why, so I knew he'd been talking to you and... I'm sorry, I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Spock startled both of them by hiccupping.

"Aw, Spock — I'm so sorry. Just... God! Please don't cry anymore," McCoy pleaded as he pulled Spock close again and rubbed his back. _HEAL-HEAL-HEAL_ flooded over Spock's consciousness in billows, seeping into all of the fragile cracks that had formed in his heart and soothing the pain away. Spock closed his eyes and leaned into McCoy's warmth, feeling small sparks form where his forehead grazed the doctor's stubbled jaw. The tingling sensations were not unpleasant.

"I am... fine now," he said, tentatively assessing his own sea of emotions. "I do not believe I am in imminent danger of succumbing to... base sentimentality."

"Well, good," McCoy replied, still not letting go of him. "Because dammit, if I can't make you feel better, I'll have to cry _with_ you."

A slow smile spread across Spock's lips as he imagined the hypothetical scenario. "That would not be helpful to either of us."

"No... I suppose not."

There was a long moment in which Spock was content to simply _exist_ as he was, held in the arms of the one man who had caused such unprecedented and unexpected reactions in him — and, ironically, had also created a calm and peacefulness in him with only a few words and some gentle touches. He did not want to move; he did not want this moment to end.

"So..." McCoy broke the silence, dragging out the vowel, "you're a... touch empath... right?"

"Yes." Spock realized that McCoy's heartrate was elevated — he could feel it throbbing where their bodies were in contact.

"So that means... you can tell what I'm feeling... right now?"

"Yes." Spock frowned as he paid more attention to those feelings and noticed a distinct change. _WORRY-WORRY-NERVOUS-FEAR-EMBARRASSED_ now dominated what had been soothing before. "What is it you are so concerned about?" he asked.

There was a brief hitch in McCoy's voice as he said, "Letting you know."

"Know... what?" Spock prompted, confused.

"You mean you can't tell?"

"I'm afraid I do not know what you are referring to." Spock straightened to put some space between them so he could look the doctor in the eye. "Perhaps it would help to clarify that I can only sense feelings — _emotions_ , not thoughts — unless I form a connection with your mind in what is called a 'mind meld.' So while I can feel what you are feeling, it is not as though I can 'read your mind' merely by touching you."

"Oh." McCoy digested this information, then mumbled, "Shit."

"I'm sorry?" Spock responded, worried at the _DISAPPOINTED-NERVOUS-FEAR_ he now sensed.

"Well, I guess I've just got to... come out and _say_ it, then." McCoy licked his lips, swallowed, and shifted so that he was looking at Spock dead on. "Spock, I... well... y'see... Jim was right," he finally admitted. "I _do_ have a thing for you. Have since... well, almost the first time we met."

Spock understood enough of Human colloquialisms to recognize what he was saying; however, he dared not trust his own interpretation — not for something so critically important.

"Do you mean... Are you saying..." His mouth had gone dry yet again, making it difficult to get the words out, and his brain was on the brink of overloading. "You are... _attracted_... to me... as well?"

"Yeah," McCoy confirmed, looking worried and embarrassed and sheepish and happy all at the same time. "Yeah, I am."

"From... the first time... we met?" Spock asked in amazement.

"Yeah." His ruddy face had turned a deep red and his breathing seemed to be labored; however, his roiling emotions had settled down, leaving them both drifting on an ocean of relative tranquility.

"I... had no idea," Spock said, studying McCoy's face as though it were the most fascinating thing he had ever beheld. "You never gave any indication... at least, none that I could tell."

"Well, of course not!" he snorted. "You were with Uhura already."

"Nyota... yes," Spock murmured, realizing something. "She had thought... you might be pleased... 'pleasantly surprised' were her exact words... to be informed of my feelings. It seems she was correct in this also."

"Damn," McCoy said without rancor. "That woman's too smart, that's for sure! I mean, I tried — I did my level best not to let on, but... sometimes I'd catch her staring at me and wonder... if I'd let something slip."

Spock felt sadness squeeze his chest. "Leonard... all these years?" he gasped out.

"Yeah... pretty much. I mean, at first I thought you were the most cold-blooded bastard ever hatched in the galaxy... but then Jim proved that you actually do _feel_ stuff, you just _bury_ it better than the rest of us... and... I dunno... I guess I could... _relate_ to that." McCoy hesitantly encircled Spock's waist with both hands. "Plus it was sort of a challenge, y'know... trying to get you to _admit_ you had feelings... like Jim did, only without all the choking and punching."

"I see," Spock said softly, feeling his paradigm shift. It was similar to adjusting the ship's forward scanners: different things came into focus depending on how you looked at any given area. "You were trying to elicit emotional responses from me... so that you could 'relate' better to me — to find common ground, as it were."

"Well, yeah... you could say that. Although there've been times when I really _did_ want to strangle you," McCoy added. "Like the time you refused to let us get you out of that volcano! Dammit, Spock, did you even think about how it would've _hurt_ us to lose you like that? Not just Uhura, who's a tough cookie but still would've been _devastated_ , but Jim, who carries all the weight of command on his shoulders like a dead albatross, and Sulu, who was piloting the shuttle and would've blamed himself for not giving you a backup line, and don't even get me started on Chekov, who looks up to you almost as much as Jim, and Scotty, too—"

"Leonard," Spock interrupted, gazing deep into his eyes. "You would have missed me?"

"You're damn right I would have!"

Despite the harshness of his words, all Spock could feel was the _CARE-CARE-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_ that burst from McCoy like solar flares from the sun. And suddenly his vision was distorted by a torrent of tears.

"Dammit, Spock! Don't fucking _cry_ , for God's sake!" McCoy sputtered, hugging him close again. It took Spock a few minutes before he could even attempt to speak.

"I am... so happy... and honored," he explained through his tears. "I... I cannot adequately express... how... how _glad_ I am... to hear you say so."

McCoy had been radiating _WORRY-HEAL-PRECIOUS-HEAL_ while holding him, but now _RELIEF_ tinged it with warmth and calm. Then the white-hot discharges of electricity started up again, crackling with intensity and rolling off in all directions. Spock wondered if McCoy could feel them as well, but before he could ask, the doctor posed a question to him first.

"So... are you really sure... you're... y'know... _into_ me? That this isn't... I dunno, some kind of... alien space virus... or something?"

Spock considered this. "I cannot completely rule out the possibility," he confessed, "but it seems highly unlikely. You yourself have found no physical irregularities. It is also possible that we bonded, in some unknown way, over the course of our time on Altamid. But if that is the only reason for my attraction to you, it should have begun to fade over time... and yet I find that the opposite is true."

"Huh. So... you really want to... um... y'know... do this?" McCoy gulped at the unintended double entendre. "I mean... see where this goes?"

"I cannot think of anything else I would rather do," Spock answered, smiling as a few last tears rolled down his cheeks. He pulled himself away from McCoy's neck and reached up to touch McCoy's face, scattering balls of sparks every which way. "Or anybody else I would rather take this journey with. I have always trusted you to provide the best medical care... but I know that I can trust you with my heart as well. And from what I have seen of _your_ heart... it is beautiful."

McCoy blushed to a deep crimson and seemed to be having trouble meeting Spock's eyes. "Well, I... uh... I mean... y'know... I couldn't possibly... that is, um... oh, _damn!_ " After spitting out that last invective, he regrouped and gripped Spock's shoulders with purpose. "Dammit all, Spock, I'm gonna kiss you!"

As Spock's mouth fell open in surprise, McCoy did just that. Hungrily, greedily, forcefully. The white sparks of lightning no longer ran along the surface of Spock's body but rather _through_ him, penetrating every cell and exploding in nebulae of starbursts that filled his mind's eye even though his physical eyes were closed. McCoy's lips were rough and demanding, sparking _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ in tidal waves which Spock could no longer distinguish as McCoy's or his own, and his tongue was exploring every nanometer of Spock's mouth, inviting and challenging him to reciprocate. When Spock gathered enough presence of mind to do so, he was rewarded by being pinned down against the biobed with McCoy's larger torso pressing against him while one of the renowned surgeon's hands tousled his hair and the other held his neck to ensure that their mouths remained in contact at all times. It was sensory overload but Spock did not care. It was the first time he had ever been so manhandled and he realized he _loved_ it.

By the time McCoy finally backed off to catch his breath, Spock's entire body was trembling, filled with bright showers of dissipating electricity. They both panted as they stared at each other, equal parts disbelief and awe in their mirrored expressions.

"That... was fucking... _amazing_ ," McCoy declared, his voice hoarse. The heatwave of _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ coming off of him left Spock in no doubt as to what kind of state he was in; in fact it had already affected Spock in a way that would have been embarrassing if it were not mutual.

"I must... concur," Spock wheezed. He knew that the prolonged oxygen deprivation combined with his racing heart would cause him to pass out if he tried to get up from the biobed now. He was glad that its back was still angled up so he could see McCoy without having to crane his neck — he wanted to drink in the sight of the doctor, to memorize how his skin was flushed with excitement and his jaw set with determination.

"I was gonna keep you here overnight for observation, but I don't think I can wait that long." The glint in McCoy's eyes was sharp, sending shivers up and down Spock's spine. "I can have you released now as long as you take two days off for medical leave — ostensibly for 'rest, relaxation, and meditation.' Sound like a plan?"

"I will defer your medical expertise, Doctor," Spock answered demurely, knowing well enough what the doctor meant. "Am I to assume that you will... _personally_ see to my recovery?"

"You bet your cute little ass I will," he shot back with a predatory grin. "Do you think you can walk, or should we borrow a wheelchair?"

"I believe I can manage... given some time to... calm myself," Spock said, feeling extra heat rising to his cheeks. The rumpled blanket covering the lower half of his body was not bulky enough to hide the bulge of his groin.

"Well! Nice to know I'm not the only one saluting here," McCoy dryly remarked. "I do have a hypospray solution that would take care of it temporarily, but I'd have to reformulate it for your biochemistry."

"There is no need for that," Spock insisted before drawing in deep breaths and willing his heart to slow down. He could not help noticing the equally large bulge in the front of McCoy's uniform trousers that was pushing out the hem of the white tunic, distracting him for a minute, but by the time the doctor had synthesized his solution and injected himself with it, Spock had restored his own iron-willed control over his emotions and body. His rebellious male member was barely a bump. He was fascinated to see that McCoy's was no longer noticeable, either.

"Let me get these discharge orders written up, then we'll be free to go," McCoy muttered, working on a PADD. It gave Spock a moment to admire his profile. McCoy glanced up, caught him staring, and asked, "What?"

"You really are quite handsome," Spock commented. "Although physical attractiveness is not a priority for my people when choosing potential mates, it is nevertheless agreeable to find someone who is aesthetically pleasing as well as in possession of many admirable qualities."

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, and at last opened it again to ask, "Spock, are you _sure_ you're feeling all right? Is there any chance you might've caught some weird infection, or... developed a delusional fever?"

"Leonard, if you are implying that I am somehow impaired in my judgmental faculties," Spock replied, sliding off the bed to stand up, "I can assure you that I am entirely correct in my assessment. Furthermore, if you believe that _only_ such an impairment would prompt me to say what is obviously and objectively _true_ ," he added, stepping close to McCoy until their noses were almost touching, "I must inform you, you are absolutely _wrong_."

At this proximity, Spock could feel McCoy's _DOUBT-DOUBT-UNCERTAIN-WORRY_ as plainly as his own heartbeat. When he gazed into his eyes, he could read his hesitation and lack of confidence as well.

 _"This is what Jim was worried about,"_ Spock realized, feeling sad at the illogic of such an attractive man being unable to accept it himself.

"Leonard," he whispered, raising one hand to touch his face. "You truly are beautiful... in all the ways that matter." He could sense McCoy's emotions being stirred into a tempest. To prevent it from escalating, he took another step closer and kissed him — a chaste kiss this time, merely grazing his lips — and was satisfied when the stormy sea within him calmed. There was wonder in McCoy's eyes when they opened.

"You really... mean that?" he couldn't help asking.

"I do," Spock said, allowing a smile to form.

"Wow," was all McCoy could say. He held Spock for a minute, simply looking at him, before he remembered what they had been planning to do. "Well, uh... shall we go, then?" he asked, blushing again.

"Indeed," Spock agreed.


	15. Chapter 15: Unexpected Pleasures

McCoy stopped by the nurses' station for a moment to inform the head nurse that he was releasing Spock. "He's Vulcan," he said, as though that explained everything. "He'll do better in his own healing trance than getting pumped full of drugs here, especially since we don't even know which drugs will work on him. I'll make sure he gets to his quarters safely and check in on him tomorrow."

"All right, Doctor, if you're sure that's best," the nurse replied, taking the PADD from him. "But you're off duty tomorrow, aren't you?"

McCoy shrugged. "You do what you have to for a shipmate. No rest for the weary."

Spock noted that the nurse — a rather young woman to be in charge of the ward, even for the night shift — blushed at the grin McCoy gave her before leaving. While it seemed to be proof of the doctor's attractiveness, Spock felt no compulsion to point it out to him; in fact he was relieved to be leaving the hospital. But as they took the turbolift down to the ground level, he noticed again how exhausted McCoy looked.

"Leonard," he said quietly, even though they were alone in the turbolift, "if you are too tired for any... _activities_... tonight, I can defer to another time when—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" McCoy demanded, turning to him, incredulous. "I had to self-medicate while ago just so I wouldn't _explode_ and do something seriously unprofessional in a hospital room, and you want me to fucking _wait_ until I'm not _tired?_ "

Spock felt the heat of McCoy's gaze warming his cheeks. "I was... obviously mistaken," he said, inclining his head in apology. "If you are feeling capable..." The turbolift doors opened so they stepped outside.

"I'm feeling _damn_ capable, thanks, and if I have to spend my entire day off sleeping to recover, so be it," McCoy huffed under his breath, mindful of the people walking by. "The only question is, your place or mine?"

"I have no preference," Spock said, falling into step beside him.

"Well, I gotta shower, at least, or I'll stink like a Denebian slime devil before we're through. Plus I gotta replicate some _medical supplies_."

The lifted eyebrow and emphasis McCoy placed on the last term clued Spock in that the supplies in question were not exactly medical in nature. As to what they might be, he could not hazard a guess, but he was confident the doctor knew what he was doing.

"In that case, perhaps I will join you in your quarters after showering also and dressing in something more appropriate."

McCoy smiled at him, making his heart flutter for a second. "Wear something you can take off quickly."

Spock struggled to remain composed as they stepped up to the site-to-site transporter.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, folks - it gets X-rated from this point on so I can't post it here. If you're older than 18, please follow it on AO3 (archiveofourown dot org/works/7910338) or my website (theanishimori dot wordpress dotcom/star-trek/).


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